Clockwork
by TheKnittingLady
Summary: Wrong place, wrong time, right girl. A killer brought them together, now he must choose between his life and her world, and her world feels so very right...
1. Chapter 1

_If we do not lay out ourselves in the service of mankind whom should we serve?  
>- John Adams<br>_

_I am not sure that it is of the first importance that you should be happy. Many an unhappy man has been of deep service to himself and to the world.  
>- Woodrow Wilson<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**Washington Hospital Center  
>5 Northwest Pavilion<br>Washington DC**

**Spencer**

He woke up not knowing where he was.

This wasn't where he had been, he knew that much. He was in a bed, for one thing, and he was dressed and the dim light was coming from a lamp not a fire.

And he was alone.

At least he thought he was alone.

He blinked and slowly raised his head. He felt awful, sore and stiff and thirsty, but he was used to all that now. In a moment he'd go have a warm shower in the dark which would help. She was right about that. Except where was she? He looked around the room, trying to make out shapes in the dimness and the blur. He'd taken his contacts out and….wait, when did he take them out anyway?

He turned his head to look the other way and caught the attention of someone standing beside the door. It didn't look like he put down a book, there was no television on and he did not remove ear phones. He had apparently just been standing, silent, watching with infinite patience. But now he stepped quietly forward. Spencer had the impression of a smaller man, compact, powerful, a solid presence. He lifted his hand, but did not touch Spencer's shoulder. "Just lie still." He said, quietly, calmly.

Command presence. Familiar now. Comforting. Spencer lay back in the bed. He had to clear his throat three times to manage to speak. "Um, Sir? Where's Cali?" He finally got out in a hoarse whisper.

"Next door." A glass with a bent straw, traditional for hospitals, appeared before him, "Drink. All of it if you can."

Water, cool and fresh and needed, Spencer finished the glass and lay back again, feeling the sheets against bruised skin, feeling the bandages over a number of shallow tears. At least one had started seeping again, he could feel the dampness. "I need to see her. Please, Sir." He needed Cali here; he couldn't do this without her. He wouldn't know how.

The man took the glass back and returned it to the nightstand. "I know. The doctor is with her now. When Dr. Mueller is finished she'll be coming in to tend to you."

Spencer looked at his wrist, still in the air from the glass, admired the pattern of bruises upon bruises on his skin. A doctor, Spencer's stomach churned. He didn't think he could handle anyone touching him right now; anyone but Cali. "I would rather…" I really just want to go, he thought. With Cali. Go back and curl up and…

"I know." The man replied, giving off a sense that he somehow knew exactly what Spencer was feeling right then. "Dr. Mueller is a specialist, she'll be kind."

Kind. Maybe it would be all right if she was kind. Spencer was going to say that when he realized he was cold; very cold. A shiver that was almost a spasm started shaking him from his core. Acute stress reaction, some distant part of his mind told him, what some call psychological shock. You have all the symptoms, "C…c…cold."

"I know." The man carefully pulled the blankets up to Spencer's chin then moved away.

From the movements of the blur Spencer assumed he was increasing the thermostat. Whoever this man was Spencer was grateful for his presence. Instinctively he knew he could trust him, at least for now. Not that he had much choice. "Who are you?" He asked. This man did not sound like Master at all.

"Chris Parker."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Notes<strong>: Yes, new story, not connected to anything else._

_This is a crossover story, few of the characters are my own. So to get the copyright issues out of the way first:_

_All Criminal Minds characters are copyright to Jeff Davis, CBS Television, and their assorted creators. I don't own them and am not making a profit, I'm just having fun._

_All character and locations belonging to "the organization", including Imala Anderson and Chris Parker, among others, are copyright to a writer who's initials are "LA". No, I am not going to give her name or mention her books by name because they are very much rated MA and I don't want anyone underage going to look them up. I do believe she would agree with me on that. That said, her themes are rather interesting and not MA, and so I'm going to explore them a bit, while being no more explicit than my other stories. Same as above, I don't own them and am not making a profit, I'm just having fun._

_If you're familiar with the books in question I moved Anderson from New York to DC, and the Long Island house to Virginia. Cannon through the third book in the series, but I have yet to read the fourth or fifth, so not for those two. _

_Set sometime after Chris' second stay in Japan, and after CM Episode 07:02._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

True to Mr. Parker's word, the doctor had been kind. She'd also been gentle, quiet, and quick, and did not in any way react to the patterns of marks and bruises that covered his body, nor to everything else she'd found in her initial exam. She treated each of the tears she had found, where two or three inch long flaps of skin had been torn up, with some sort of antiseptic and ointment and bandages, better than they had in what must have been the emergency room. He barely felt the burn.

Once she pronounced him healthy enough to make it home they had taken him downstairs by means of a very private entrance and bundled him into the back of one of those big cars that aren't a limo but usually come with a driver anyway. Spencer was too disoriented to do or say anything in protest. Besides, once he got to the car he no longer cared.

Cali was there.

He loved her. She was the only one who could help him sort how to do this, the only one he could trust with this. She'd been wrapped in a blanket against the effects of shock as well, but as soon as he climbed into the backseat she let go of that and curled into his arms. He pulled her in tight, feeling the familiar warmth, taking in the sweet scent, savoring the sensation of every soft curve against him. Somehow just having her there made the aches and the sick disorientation ease just a little. He was dimly aware that someone was wrapping them both up; that the car was moving, that they were driving through the dark streets. He closed his eyes; he couldn't tell and didn't care anyway. So long as Cali was right here with him it was going to be all right.

He was dimly aware of the car turning into a gate, and eventually pulling up to some kind of carport. The car stopped, the door opened, and gentle hands were ushering them out. The scent of the cool night air sickened him for a moment, but a moment later they were indoors. They were hurried along through the dark, wrapped in blankets, up stairs, down a hall and into a small room lit only by a fire. And just in time, another of those shudders was threatening to tear him apart.

Someone had moved a small sofa, turned it so the back faced the fire, trapping the heat in the narrow space between it and the hearth. Someone had set up a pallet there, a thick, narrow futon, a stack of pillows, more blankets. Spencer heard Cali sink down with a murmur of pleasure and very quickly joined her, sighing at the heat and the gentle light, so warm and familiar. As soon as he was down, his back against the sofa, he opened his arms and she crawled into his lap again. For a long moment he just sat there, shivering still, but eventually he tipped his head and placed a kiss on her temple. "Where are we?"

"Home," she replied, "Anderson's house. I told you they would let you come here."

"It's nice." It was warm, at least, in every sense of the word. Familiar, just like the place they had been for so long. "I'm having trouble processing." He admitted. Even with the familiarity, the heat, his head was throbbing.

"Me too," she admitted. "But we don't have to right now. Mr. Parker will take care of everything. We just have to do what he tells us."

Chris Parker, her Trainer and Anderson's second. She'd told him about that. Spencer sighed and relaxed. That would make it so much easier, wouldn't it? Ever since she had told him of this place he had wondered what it would be like to have someone else taking care of things, to have someone else looking after him like he was special, somehow, prized, even cherished simply for what he could do. He'd been on his own for so long, since his Dad left, really, and having someone like that sounded so comforting. And now here he was. It was as much a comfort as the fire and the blankets and the woman in his arms. Just having that helped ease the shuddering in his middle, if only a little.

He was used to the two of them being alone in their quiet world, so he was a little shocked, angered, and even defensive when Mr. Parker crouched down at the end of the pallet. Instinctively he turned so Cali was slightly behind him before he remembered. Thankfully the smaller man came no closer. "She's here." He said into the phone he was holding. "I doubt she'll be able to talk for more than a moment." He stretched out and offered it to Cali. "It's your mother."

With shaking hands Cali took the phone from him. "Mum," she said. "I'm all right. I don't think so. Yes, I am. I will. I will. Yes, Mum. I love you and Dad too." She passed the phone back and tucked her head under Spencer's chin, clinging close and shuddering.

Mr. Parker took the phone, rose and stepped away, speaking quietly. Spencer ran a hand over Cali's dark blond hair, delighting in the familiar silk. A wave of need rose up through him, pushing away the shuddering for a moment. "Are you all right?"

He felt her nod under his chin. "They were worried." She must have felt his reaction, she turned and nuzzled a kiss into the hollow of his throat, warming his blood in a way the fire couldn't. No, they couldn't do that without permission. But oh, he wanted to, and clearly she did as well.

Mr. Parker was back again. "Dr. Reid," he was carrying a silver tray with some objectst on it, very much like a proper English butler. "These were left for you." He took the items off the tray and placed them on the pallet within easy reach, and then withdrew again.

Spencer blinked at the pile. With Cali still in his arm, still in his lap, he opened the small box and put his glasses on. Instantly the world around him snapped into focus, and a sharp lance of pain shot through his forehead. Eye strain, he thought, of course. He looked down into Cali's golden brown eyes, the first time he'd truly seen them in…how long? "They suit you." She murmured.

The next object was a sealed letter, addressed to him, on BAU letterhead.

_Reid –_

_Before you ask we haven't abandoned you. It turns out that the other victim there with you, Calista Nash, works for a couple who have treated something similar to what you've been going through and that Rossi is familiar with their work. After talking it over with them we all decided that that's the best place for you to recover. Besides, if our read of the situation was right you and Miss Nash aren't going to want to be apart right now. We also decided that given the situation you'd want some space and privacy to work through this. I left you a cell phone, if that's wrong and you want us to come for you just call. You know we'll be right there._

_For now you're out on medical. Don't worry about work or Strauss or any of it. And don't worry about your Mom, we've been in contact with Bennington, her Dr. is working with her. Garcia is making sure your bills are being paid and all of that. You just sit tight and concentrate on getting through this. They're good, man, let them help you. We've got your back._

_Morgan_

_PS. Call me when you get this so I know you have a phone._

One of the other objects was a pack with a cell phone and a charger. Spencer sat back and looked at the letter again. Yes, he was relieved, but why was he crying? His cheeks were definitely wet. He swiped at them as he checked the phone, it was charged, the familiar numbers plugged in. He dialed the first one. "Morgan?" It was still coming out as a croak.

"Hey, Reid," Spencer could hear movement shifting in the background, perhaps Morgan signaling who he was talking with. "How are you feeling?"

"Not good." Spencer had to admit that, but then, "Not dying. I just….."

"I know, man, I know. That will pass in a couple of days. In the meantime just sit tight and let them look after you, k? I'll come by to check on you soon."

"All right," Morgan understood. He didn't know how but thank God Morgan understood. "Thank you."

"Yeah, just get better. See you." With that Morgan rang off.

Cali had been very politely not listening. But now she looked up. "Good then?"

"Yeah, good," he wanted her to go back to kissing him, preferably everywhere, preferably for a start. "What is that?" He asked, looking at the dark shape in her hands.

She opened the small folder, his badge. "You really are an FBI agent." She said.

"Yeah, I am." He took the folder from her. It looked like an artifact from another world, and the BAU felt a million miles away. While he contemplated this he leaned down and nuzzled her temple, kissed her when she tipped her head back. Her lips, her taste were so familiar now. Something he could anchor to in all this confusion.

But then Mr. Parker was appearing again, another tray, mugs of some kind of tomato soup, a plate of what turned out to be simple grilled cheese, bottles of water. "Eat," he said, "and drink all of the water. There's a bathroom through there if you need it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

It was a feast for them, hot and rich and heady, and neither of them thought they would be able to finish, but they managed. Mr. Parker had moved away, but Spencer could sense him nearby, observing silently. Rossi knew…Rossi knew. Rossi understood too. Why hadn't he told him before?

They ate, and then sat in the dark warmth a time. Eventually he murmured down into her hair. "I'm curious about tomorrow." He was, for the first time in he didn't know how long. But it wasn't much of a curiosity; the next five minutes were really all that mattered, if that. Maybe right now was all that mattered.

"Me too," she murmured into his chest, then, "Bathroom." She got up, taking her blanket with her to keep out the chill. When she returned he took a turn, not bothering to turn on the light, just cracking the door like they had to find his way. The bathroom felt too big, it felt like a cavern in there, complete with echo. He hurried back to curl with her again as one of those chills, those shudders, wracked him to his core.

A moment later Mr. Parker appeared, carrying another small silver tray with a small crystal plate, "Pills, one for each. "What are they?" Spencer asked, only out of mild curiosity. He was already reaching to wash it down.

"Non-narcotic sleep aid," Mr. Parker replied. "You both need your rest."

Not too much later they were both sleeping deeply, curled together before the fire, as they had so often before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

The next morning Spencer woke when someone opened the curtains.

Bright sunlight came streaming in. He cautiously opened his eyes and blinked, he couldn't tell if the light was a good thing or a misery. Both, he finally decided.

This morning he had a chance to look around the room. It was a luxurious bedroom, green walls, oriental rugs, a small sitting area before the fire at one end, a large bed with a grand canopy at the other. One of the sofas had been pulled out of place to make the warm, familiar nook where they had spent the night. Last night it had seemed so like the cell in which they had been trapped, comforting in its familiarity, but this morning it was clearly not. Spencer looked around, disoriented very near to panic.

Thankfully Cali, his angel, his rock, was waking up and having a look herself. "The green room," she told him. "We're getting the royal treatment, special guests." Then she rolled and groaned in pain.

Spencer understood why as he sat up. Every muscle he had ached, every one, he swore, right down to the bone. And he knew why, if his body looked anything like Cali's. Her shirt had pulled up in the night, revealing that she was thin to her ribs showing, and covered in layers of bruises and marks and over those more than a dozen small bandages covering her torso, arms and breasts. He could feel that he was wearing the same. If he was the same way no wonder he hurt. But even that wouldn't explain the way his stomach was churning, the way is heart was pounding, the shuddering that still wracked him. Those ought to have hurt yesterday, and the day before and the day before that but they didn't. What's different?

Someone cleared his throat. It was Mr. Parker, over by the window, using a small set of bookshelves as some kind of sideboard. Spencer finally got a good look at him, noted the thick, dark curls, the slight beard, the glasses, the muscles on his compact frame, that his suits were tailored as well as Rossi's. Mr. Parker nodded to a tiny, marble topped table with two chairs. Groaning in misery they got to their feet, and made their way over to sit. He first presented them with small cups of brown pills which they took without question or complaint. Then hot tea, Spencer clung to his mug gratefully. Lastly there were plates with scones. "This will buffer the medication. Breakfast will be along shortly, unless you feel up to going down to the kitchen."

"I'm sorry Sir." Cali replied after a moment. "I don't think I do." In that case, Spencer thought, I'm not going either.

"All right," Mr. Parker nodded. "It will be brought up to you in thirty minutes. In the meantime I want you each to take a hot bath to help combat the chills."

"Chills?" Spencer managed to ask. His mind was whirling around him; he could barely grab a thought before it was whisked away again. Chills, is that what this is?

"Yes, they are expected, now, baths, both of you. There are supplies to treat your cuts after." With that he collected everything but the tea and stepped out again.

They sat for a moment, sipping the hot liquid, shuddering in their cocoons, not willing to leave even for the bath. "That tub is built for two." Cali finally managed to get out.

Working together it only took a few moments to have the large slipper tub filled with hot, spicy bubbles, a few candles lit, the blinds closed, dark and flickering light. Without a moment's thought for being naked in front of her Spencer pulled off his clothes and slid into the tub, closing his eyes and sighing at the heat. A moment more and she was sliding down into his arms and his lap again. "Oh, this is heaven."

"Yes," it was the first time they had been skin-to-skin since he woke up in the hospital. Spencer was finding that that sensation, more than the hot tea and hot bath, was driving the chills away. He bent down and nuzzled her hair again, kissed her cheek, that spot under her ear. The feel of her squirming about in his lap was arousing him again, chasing away the aches, the shaking….

"We can't." She murmured. "Not without permission."

He. Master. They must never do that without his permission. If they did…. He stopped and tried to breathe, to keep it from overwhelming him. "He's tormenting us." It would ease the pain, the sickness, not a clue how he knew he just did. He was punishing them again…no…wait.

"Yes…no, wait. We're home." She sighed as she lay back against him. "I keep getting confused."

"So do I." He knew he wanted again, needed. It had been so long, it had been forever. But Cali said Mr. Parker understood such things and….wait…where were they again?

A sound out in the other room indicated that breakfast had arrived. They got up, rinsed quickly, dressed in the soft pajamas that had been left for them, and came out to find a table set with eggs, porridge of some kind. Mr. Parker sat with his own coffee as they ate, spoke quietly when spoken too, but mostly they ate in silence. After breakfast an actual maid in a black dress and white apron came in and cleared the tray. "You two seem to be up to it." Mr. Parker informed them. "Anderson wants to see you."

They pulled on robes and slippers for the trek, which took them down the stairs and into some kind of main hall. Mr. Parker bade them sit on a bench, knocked on a set of pocket doors, stepped in a moment, and then returned, "Cali first." She had been clinging to Spencer the entire time, but now stood with a brief nod and went in. Spencer sat there, his arms wrapped tight around his middle, shivering; waiting for her to return. She came back out after only a few moments, with a small smile, but before he had a chance to speak to her Mr. Parker was ushering him into the room beyond.

It turned out to be a small office and library, done in a combination of the Arts and Crafts style native to the rest of the house and what could only be the Cowboy style popularized by Molesworth. In and around the elegant furnishings were western style blankets and furniture upholstered in horse hide and a skull of a horned animal hanging on the wall.

The woman leaning against the desk fit the room. Weathered as much as aged, her hair hung straight to her waist, grey shot with white, was clasped at her neck with silver. She wore multiples of silver bracelets on her arms, and Navajo silver and turquoise over her loose white shirt and long denim skirt. When she spoke it was with a faint twang that spoke of Oklahoma and Kansas and prairie dust and heat. "Dr. Reid, a pleasure to meet you. Most people call me Anderson."

Head of the house, he remembered from Cali's stories, Trainer of Trainers for North America, an expert in her field, much respected. She'd been so proud to be here, working with these people. "The pleasure is…mine." He gasped as a shudder wracked him. "Thank…you."

"Easy there." She helped him into one of the chairs. "I don't know how much Cali told you about what we do…"

"She told me…enough." He managed a smile. "You have my word." His silence. He was still debating joining himself, if Cali's stories held true.

"Thank you. So you know we can help. Before we go any further I'm afraid you have a choice to make. Given what's been happening…yes, we can tell." She nodded in response to the look on his face; surely, he could feel his ears on fire. "It's all over your medical report, which only confirms our expectations. Now you have two choices, you can continue the way you have been, which we will help you do safely, and gradually stop, or you can stop right now. If you want to continue you'll be taken to another house we operate in Virginia. If you decide to just stop now you can remain here. Or, of course, you are always free to leave, we will drive you wherever you wish to go or call your friends to come for you. But regardless of what you choose Cali will be remaining here."

That they were being given a chance to express a preference at this juncture was overwhelming. He thought of what they had been doing together, all of it filtered through his mind and the craving for it, for that sweet release threatened to rise up and overwhelm him. But…without Cali? He couldn't. He couldn't even picture it. "I would rather stay with Cali, Ma'am." They could get through anything if they got through it together. I am so very tired, he thought, I just want to rest. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it to the best of my ability. But no more guessing games, no more worrying what will happen if I'm wrong. Just tell me, please, and let Cali stay.

Anderson nodded, "All right. You do understand that if you stay you'll be…submitting to our guidance and direction until you're released from medical care. After that we'll revisit the issue."

Of course, he smiled and almost collapsed from sheer gratitude. "Yes… Ma'am, I understand. I agree. Thank you." Oh thank you.

Anderson put up an eyebrow. "All right then. We'll do everything we can to help you both. For right now you get yourself back to bed." She opened the door to show him out.

Cali was waiting. They went up together.

* * *

><p><strong>Anderson<strong>

Once she closed the door Anderson stepped to her desk, stripping off her bracelets so they wouldn't jangle on the phone. She quickly dialed the number in the file on top of the pile on her desk.

"Rossi."

"Hey Dave. Well, it looks like the pair-bond is stronger than the desire to get high. They both decided to stick here and stop cold turkey. Together. But the way he was acting, I think that other problem we discussed may have cropped up."

"So it's both good and disturbing." The voice on the other end was warm and concerned even as it was pleased. "How's he doing physically?"

"Coming down hard, they both are. But we expected it. She shook her head. "Your, what did you call him Unsub? Worked them over but good. Greta Mueller said that even with the weight loss their hearts are still good, they can take it. And this way will save him a hell of a lot of dignity which ought to make it easier in the long run."

"Yes, it will. I just didn't expect that other problem."

"I figured that. It may not be a permanent change in his psyche, but for now I suggest we use it to our advantage, get him back to healthy. He's safe here with it, you have my word."

"Thank you, Imala. You'll keep us posted? Let us know if you need anything?"

Given the size of the check Dave Rossi had written Anderson thought everything was covered. "I surely will. You take care of your end. That Morgan fellow was about ready to bite through the bit at the hospital."

"Yeah, I know. Now that Reid's in good hands we'll get him out on a case, get him distracted in no time."

They spoke for a few minutes more, and then rang off. Imala Anderson chuckled as dialed the next number to tell Dalton what his girl had decided. An FBI agent in one of their houses, who ever would have thought?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

Sometime over the course of the next two days Spencer started to catch a clue as to what was going on.

They were kept hydrated, medicated, fed lightly and yet healthfully in small meals over the course of the days. They were under near constant supervision but were not engaged to any great amount. They were encouraged to get a great deal of rest, and to spend ample time in hot soaking baths to deal with the chills and the muscle aches and the soreness of healing. Sometime in all of that Spencer realized why all this felt almost familiar. Withdrawal, he realized, off of something. Not as strong as Dilaudid but something. I didn't expect a physical addiction at all.

With that realization he called Morgan again, only to have the number redirect. "Hey boo bear, how are you?" chirped the concerned voice of one Penelope Garcia.

"Garcia? I thought I was calling Morgan."

"They're on a case hun, they're giving the profile. Do you need a rescue?" She ramped up to concern that quickly.

Spencer looked around. He was in that big, soft bed, back in the green room, wearing clothes that wouldn't unduly irritate healing skin. They were clean and warm and he'd finally had a chance to at least pass an electric razor over his face. Cali was using his left thigh as a pillow at the moment. There was hot tea and a plate of homemade cookies at hand, and a stack of the books his mother used to read to him, for comfort since he still couldn't focus worth a damn. And over in the sitting area the maid was quietly studying something. Suicide watch maybe, he thought, at least they're being unobtrusive about it. But even more than the physical surroundings there was the simple knowledge that he was exactly where he ought to be at this moment, doing exactly what he ought to be doing, and that he didn't have to sort the next thing, it was being sorted for him. No more guessing, no more facing things alone. "No, I'm fine. Um, can Strauss…."

"Hang on." There was a pop and a beep on the line. "Done, and I'll fix it later. What's up?"

In the amount of time it took Garcia to cut the recording he realized what a colossal blunder he had almost made. The system Cali and her family lived and worked within was secret, utterly off the grid. Somehow Rossi knew about it, and had told Morgan but he might not have told everyone. "How much did Morgan and Rossi tell you about what's going on?"

"Not nearly enough." Garcia said, clearly unhappy with it. "We told Strauss that you took a physical injury, and that you're out until the doctor clears you. I was going to come visit you but Morgan said they wouldn't let us in. They said you shouldn't have visitors until tomorrow." She made a small, sad sound. "I hate it when they don't tell us anything."

"It's really not that bad. Cali, um, the other victim…works here."

"Yeah, I know. Rossi knows the head guy there, I guess, so he set it up. He wasn't going to go into detail, you know, to give you some privacy, but you know Morgan, he gets so protective, so he insisted on being in on it. So as soon as they get back Morgan is going to come visit you and then if it's okay I'll come out, because I can't see why it wouldn't be okay."

"Cali told me about this place; it might be more about protecting other people's privacy. But I'm sure we can work something out. Did they say how long it was expected to take?"

"They said not to expect you for a month, which is about how long you were out with your knee, right? After that they were going to try to get you back to work, at least on desk duty, but all in all it could take up to three months for a full recovery. Like moving back to your own place, clear to travel kind of recovery." He could almost hear Garcia frowning. "Now I'm curious about what's wrong."

All of a sudden it came to him. I think I know, he thought, I think I know and I don't know that I can handle that. "Don't worry about it." He said to Garcia, trying to keep the despair out of his voice. "Just tell them I'll work with the people here, I'll do what I have to do to get through this."

"Awww sweetie, we know you will."

"I'll check back in a few days. Bye." Spencer rung off and slumped back against the pillows as the first wave of depression hit. Now that wasn't fair. Not at all. I finally find the most beautiful, amazing girl in the world and maybe people who understand and now this?

He slid down to curl up next to her and hold her as he napped again.

* * *

><p>A day or so later he awoke feeling much closer to human. Granted it was a depressed, moody sort of human. And sometimes he swore he was an FBI agent, here by choice to recuperate for a time, and sometimes he swore Master had him here for more training, he was finding it impossible to pin down. But at least he felt less anxious about it all. He slid carefully out of Cali's arms so as not to wake her, nodded politely to the watcher, this time a slender Asian man, and headed for the bathroom. Not just a suicide watch, he'd realized not long after his last call to Garcia, they were probably making sure that nothing happened between him and Cali, that they obeyed the rules. But the way he was going if they kept it up he was going to…<p>

No, he wasn't. He was going to be good.

While the shower warmed he took a moment to examine his torso. He'd lost a good ten pounds he hadn't wanted to lose, too much of it in muscle as a result of being trapped in a small space for so long. It looked like the most recent of the bruises we already fading to greenish blue, making them look worse even as they were healing. And the two dozen small tears had scabbed over cleanly. The damage covered him from knees to wrists to collarbone, and if you added the small, oval bruises, beyond, but they were thickest around his groin. We were just trying to pacify the Unsub, he thought, to fulfill his fantasy and stay alive until the team could get to us. We didn't mean to…

But they had. And now they must live with it.

A quick shower to wake up a bit, and then the soft clothes they had been providing. He was still too sore for anything resembling his usual. As he was leaving Cali was coming in, she stopped to step into his arms, to press her fine curves against him, to kiss him. "Good morning."

"Good morning." While she cleaned up he made the bed, picked up the books that had been scattered about. Their watcher stepped out, but pointedly left the door open. No, he thought, they wouldn't. Not right now. But that thought brought the blackness of despair lapping at the edges of his consciousness again. Does this mean we can never…

It wasn't long before Cali stepped back out. "Feeling up to going down to breakfast?" she asked.

"I think so." He slipped his cell phone and badge in his pockets, his letter tucked into the folder. "Lead the way."

The kitchen was at the back of the house, in its own addition, and had clearly been renovated recently. The appliances were all top of the line, and while the cabinetry was in the style of the rest of the house it was also new. Off to one side was a comfortable table, built into a corner lined with windows. He was going to head there, but Cali stopped and grinned. "Hello Vincente."

The man in chef's whites was easily as tall as Spencer and as slender, but older and darker than Morgan. He turned and grinned and when he spoke it was with the soft rhythm of Brazil. "Cali! You look like you're feeling better." He opened his arms for a hug.

"I am. We are, I think." She stepped easily into that hug, but he noticed that she stepped out of it quickly. He probably would have as well; being touched by anyone else at this point was a stomach turning concept. "In no small part thanks to your good cooking."

"Ahhh, well, I just cook what Chris told me to cook." Vincente was clearly lapping up the praise. From what Cali had told him, the older man deserved every bit of it. "Speaking of breakfast you two sit. It'll be along in just a few minutes."

Before they could both sit Mr. Parker came in from what appeared to be an elegant dining room, carrying a phone. "Yes, Sir," he was saying, "I will sir, just one moment." He covered the mouthpiece and offered the phone to Cali. "It's Dalton."

Mr. Dalton, Spencer remembered, lead Trainer at Rothmere where her family had served for seven generations. Her trainer-of-record. He'd been the one who sent her here for more training. Cali frowned and stepped back to the dining room for privacy. "Hello, Sir. I'm…better, Sir." Was all Spencer heard of her conversation before the door closed behind her.

Mr. Parker was moving toward the coffee pot. He was wearing what Spencer had come to realize was the expected dress for men here, a suit and tie. This was a business after all, and a rather formal one. "Good morning Dr. Reid. How are you feeling today?"

"Better, I think, Sir. Past the first hurdle, or perhaps just hitting bottom, I can't tell."

Mr. Parker nodded. "You can expect a biochemical period of depression lasting up to fourteen days at this point. There is no good medication for it but we do have a treatment protocol that will help ease the symptoms at least."

"This has happened before?"

"Not precisely like this, but similar." Mr. Parker sipped. "Do you understand what's happened?"

He did, the problem Spencer was having was quite being able to communicate. "I think so, Sir. Given that endorphins are the body's internal form of morphine recovery would be similar." Thankfully endorphins were the most natural of the opiates; the symptoms would have been much, much worse with an actual drug. Especially considering the tolerance they had reached toward the end, how hard it had been to get 'high'. "How did this happen before?"

"Owners who wanted to see how far their property could go."

"Ah." All of a sudden he heard a broken sound from the dining room. He turned as the door opened, and spotted Cali just as she broke into sobs. Immediately he rose and pulled her into his arms. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she sobbed. "He said not to worry, that my place was secure. He said I was to stay here for now and not to worry about my contract."

Oh. Well that confirmed it, didn't it? She let him pull her over to the table, and then into his lap. He held her close and gently ran his fingers through her silk soft hair. "Then what's wrong?"

"It's never going to be like it was." She sobbed, "Ever. Everything is different now. I love you and I don't know that I want to go back, but I wish…"

It could have been done differently, Spencer thought. They should have had romance, and not…not… "Shhh." He didn't know what to tell her. From what he could tell she was right. They should have been able to do that on their own and not be forced by an Unsub. Wait, was Master an…

Mr. Parker was clearing his throat. "That's not entirely accurate."

Spencer looked at him over Cali's head, "How's that?"

"Nothing will restore the physical state of things, this is true, but it is possible to recover the endorphin system. To reset the sensitivity levels if you will. At least we were able to do so in those other cases. And with that to reset psychologically as well."

Which Spencer would consider being rather miraculous, "How?"

"Drs. Kauffman and Mueller are coming by today to perform a more thorough assessment. After that we'll discuss a treatment plan"

Well, that sounded reasonable enough, "Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Morgan**

Derek Morgan parked in the designated area by some kind of work truck, swung the duffle bag he had brought to his shoulder, and lifted the file crate out of the trunk. The door was answered by the same slender young man he had met briefly on his last trip here, who was supervising some kind of work being done in the house. Toshio, he recalled, who had been working in a house up in New York and who had come down at this Chris Parker's behest to both help out and study what to do in these cases. No, he was not thrilled with the idea of Reid being a case study; not when he was this vulnerable, but everyone here was so dammed polite and discrete that it was hard to even tell that this fellow was studying. Besides, it had been made clear that Anderson was going out on a long limb to help. Granted she seemed to have a lot of capitol built up with the people in her organization, but they weren't the sort who usually worked with the FBI. As long as Reid was getting the help he needed Morgan wasn't going to raise any kind of a stink.

Toshio divested Morgan of the duffle and file crate, promised to fetch the other two from the car, and directed him toward the back of the house, past the room where some kind of carpeting was being moved. This led him through the kitchen where the cook offered him coffee, an offer which he accepted. He was then directed to the back garden where he found one SSA Dr. Spencer Reid sitting on a porch swing, working on his own mug and writing on something on a clipboard. For a moment he had to just stand there and look, the relief was just too overwhelming.

* * *

><p>"<em>FBI! Don't move! Let me see your hands!"<em>

_Morgan trained his gun on the back of the Unsub they had been hunting relentlessly for three weeks straight. Finally they had their man, finally. _

_The only problem was the Unsub wasn't obeying directions worth a damn. He was turning, very slowly, with his hands still in front of him. "I'm not going to prison." He said, defiantly._

"_Don't do it!"_

_But he did it. He turned and pointed his gun right at Morgan. It was impossible to know whose shot was the one that did it, his or Hotch's._

_As soon as the Unsub was down Morgan left him in Hotch's care and jumped to the back of the van. It wasn't locked, thank God. He pulled the door open, took one look, and his heart nearly stopped. Lying in the back were two bodies, one tall and too thin and there was blood…. "Reid!" No answer. "Reid!" He shook the younger man, finding him nothing but a boneless pile. "Reid! Come on man!" He crawled in and leaned over his friend, praying to a god he almost believed in that he would find a pulse. He did. Thank God he did. It was slow, but steady, and Reid was breathing, if shallow. He was still alive. "Medic!"_

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

Morgan blinked out of his memories and looked up. Spencer had noticed him standing there, woolgathering. He crossed the immaculate kitchen garden to join his friend. It was a soft spring day, just going toward summer, the perfect day to be lazy in the back yard. "Hey. You look like you're feeling better."

"Somewhat." Spencer frowned as he put the clipboard on the table at his elbow. "You know, knowing that the depression has a biochemical cause doesn't really ease it any."

"You'll get through it." Morgan took the other end of the swing. "I went through your apartment, brought you some clothes, what looked like the work from whatever classes you've been taking. Their idea, I hope you don't mind."

Spencer shook his head. "No, at this point I don't have much privacy left anyway. I've been trying to write to Mom, what did you tell her doctor?"

"You were undercover. It worked."

"Thanks."

They sat a moment in companionable silence, and then Spencer spoke again. "We were trying to pacify the Unsub, give you guys time to get there. That's SOP in these cases. It was my fault really."

"I know. We figured. You obviously did the right thing, you two are still alive. It just got away from you is all."

"Right," Spencer seemed satisfied with that, at least for now, at least enough to go back to his coffee. "We weren't on an active case, what happened?"

"DC Metro didn't realize they had a serial. This guy had been picking up kids from the different universities in town, doing what he was doing for as long as he could get them to last, then sedating them, transporting them, and poisoning them at the dump site. Between budget cuts and no one really noticing when college kids go missing they still had bodies backed up in the morgue."

Spencer nodded. "The last thing I remember from before was giving a lecture at George Washington. I was just putting my books in my trunk when someone jumped me. I assume I fit the victimology."

"Yep, tall, skinny, light brown, very white, very preppy. Your girl in there fit as well. When we came here to interview her 'family' not only did Rossi realize what she was involved in but we also connected the Unsub to these people." He chuckled. "I've decided Rossi knows everybody."

Spencer didn't even bother to look at him, it clearly wasn't a surprise. "We were able to profile that he had been rejected as a Trainer or Owner, probably after he went over the limits of more than one person to try to satisfy his fantasy. It was that final rejection that triggered his behavior."

"Yeah, and we figured that it was finding out that she was a…a…"

"Trainee," Spencer supplied helpfully.

Not that helpfully. Morgan collected his thoughts a moment. "That's not the term they use."

"No, but in her case it's more accurate. In fact for the vast majority of the people they work with 'indentured servant' would be the most accurate term. A contact stipulating room, board and other necessities in exchange for labor for a period of time, with wages minus certain, pre-negotiated costs at the end of the contract. Even the restrictions built in to the system fit the historical pattern."

Spencer sounded too neutral about it. "I don't think the historical contracts involved physical punishment or sex." Morgan said.

"Actually they did allow for physical punishment, which was the societal norm for all servants at the time; and while they didn't overtly spell out sexual duties that certainly happened between servants and contact owners. At least this system spells that out. And besides, not all contracts involve sex."

"Oh."

"Cali's specifically stated the opposite. She was training as a housekeeper, like her mother."

"A housekeeper?"

"Yeah, not a house cleaner like we think of one today. Rothmere, her home back in England, is still maintained under the old British Imperial system. The Housekeeper was management level, equal to a butler and answering directly to the lady of the house. She cross-trained as management at Kaleigh Castle, a hotel and training facility operated by the same family, while she was getting her degree."

Morgan knew all this but it felt good to hear Reid babbling again. "Yeah, we found that, dual major in literature and business management from Cambridge, right?"

Spencer nodded. "She was the first in her family to go to college, but the seventh generation to serve in that system. She was planning to take a contract as a maid or a housekeeper in a smaller place after this then return to Rothmere in ten years after her mother retired."

"But not now?"

"I don't know."

More than anything Morgan wanted to ask his friend what he would do if his girl went back. There was already ample evidence that at least one of their predictions had come to pass.

* * *

><p>"<em>You know, there's something you haven't considered."<em>

_It was, of course, just their luck. As soon as they joined the investigation….no, given the way DC Metro had been acting, and that REID WAS MISSING they had full-on taken over the investigation…the Unsub had changed pattern. Up to now he had kept each victim a week at best, but now it was two and there was no sign, which meant that any moment they were likely to find Reid's body behind a dumpster. Needless to say they were trying everything. And everything included returning to the other victim's 'family'. Rossi insisted they were the reigning experts on paraphilia and the psychology of human sexuality, and as such could provide insight into the case. If nothing else he claimed their reference library and network topped anything available anywhere else on the subject, even to the FBI._

_Now they had the case file spread out over this Anderson woman's dining room table, and coffee was being served by the most polite, unobtrusive woman he had ever very nearly not seen, just at the moment when he was thinking that he could sorely need a cup. And it was exactly the way he liked it, without having to say a word. "What is that?"_

_Anderson wasn't looking in the FBI files, she was thumbing through one of their files. Somehow Morgan thought he should have suspected something like this existed, but they were so secretive they gave Interpol a run for its money. "Are you familiar with John Money's work on 'lovemaps'?"_

"_Yeah, Money said they were a developmental representation or template in the mind and in the brain depicting the idealized lover and the idealized program of sexual and erotic activity projected in imagery or actually engaged in with that lover."_

"_They usually develop between the ages of two and ten, at the latest. They generally evolve out of our earliest erotic, sensual or bonding experiences. Many think that people with a healthy lovemap bond to people who remind them of whichever parent they were closest to, as our parents are our first experience in love and physical comfort." Rossi frowned. "You think this has something to do with the Unsub's lovemap?"_

"_No, but I think that might be why he's kept them so long." Anderson made the long arm to the sideboard, found the file she was looking for. "Is Dr. Reid close to one of his parents?"_

"_Yes, his mother. They were very close, still are. His father abandoned the family, why?" Rossi asked_

"_Got a picture?"_

"_Hang on." Morgan sent a quick text to Garcia. "Well read, well educated, very formal in manner, more than a little old-fashioned."_

"_That sounds about right. Say the same for him; add in not being any sort of an alpha male. Here we go." Anderson pulled out a picture, thankfully not a naked one. A very tall, very slender man in chinos, a collared shirt, a sweater vest, soft brown hair, hazel eyes…. "That's William Nash, Calista's father." He placed the picture next to Reid's, they could have been brothers._

_Morgan's tablet beeped. He opened the file to find an old University ID photo of one Diana Reid. Granted Cali's photo showed an impish good humor and no signs of mental illness, but the similarity was striking. "Okay, you think they might have fallen for each other?" It made sense, were it not for an Unsub being involved and this whole thing she was part of, he might have said that this woman was a likely choice for his friend. Hell, he would have set them up._

"_Not only that."_

* * *

><p>What about you, Morgan wanted to ask, what are you thinking about the future, now that you know this about yourself? Now that you've been exposed to this place and these people who remind me so strongly of you? It's not even what this means for the future of the unit or for us as friends, what will this mean for you? Or have you even figured out that you still have choices yet? It was far too soon after all that trauma to ask. Better to focus on the more immediate future. "So what happens now, do you know?"<p>

"Drs Kaufmann and Mueller are here for more thorough evaluations." Spencer sipped his coffee. "Not something I'm looking forward to." He admitted.

Morgan thought back. "Dr. Greta Mueller was the MD at the hospital. Private practice, works with people in that system." Yeah, no one looked forward to a complete physical, probably especially after all that, but he had to know that it was important after everything they had been through. "Who is Kaufmann?"

"Dr. Emil Kaufmann, their private psychiatrist." Spencer managed a smile. "I actually followed some of his work before, he's very good. Cali is in with them now."

Which explained the waves of not want coming off him, as well as why he was more or less keeping his eyes on a door in the house. He was watching for Cali. "Try not to analyze him instead."

"I will." Spencer actually chuckled at that. "After that they said there was going to be some kind of treatment plan; hopefully one that will get me back to work in a few weeks. I'll see that they send you a copy if you want."

"Yeah, do that. That way we can have your back." Rossi would already be getting a copy, but he really didn't want Reid to know that he was covering the cost. Anderson and Chris were waving their usual fees but there were still expenses to worry about. "So you are coming back?" Maybe he was wrong in assuming his friend had yet to sort reality from the Unsub-imposed fantasy.

"If they let me."

Or not, Morgan was fishing about for where else to go when his phone beeped at him. "Damn it, we just got back from a case."

"At any given time there are twenty-five to fifty serial criminals in the US." Spencer pointed out. "That we get any time off is remarkable."

Morgan got up and started heading toward the gate to the parking area. "Good point. All right, you keep in touch. You need anything you call Garcia. You know the drill. Oh, and there are some things in a crate in there that were sent for you." Some things to remember us, touchstones, anchors to reality. Hopefully they will help, he thought.

"I will." Spencer walked with him that far. "Morgan." The other man stopped and turned. "Thank you."

That was not a good-bye. He was only imagining the good-bye. "Anytime kid. See you soon."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

After the evaluations, and after Anderson and Mr. Parker had a chance to discuss them, the hammer of doom was about to fall.

At least that's how it felt to Spencer. He knew it was irrational, he knew it was probably just the depression talking, but as he sat in the kitchen curled up by the table with Cali he rather suspected that it was going to be just that kind of horrible. Cold turkey, after all, and he recalled from his NA days that it meant forever…

He didn't think he could do it this time. Not with this.

"Cali, Dr. Reid, will you join us please." Mr. Parker appeared and ushered them into the dining room. They sat close enough to feel her body heat, so her hand could rest comfortably on his thigh, he could almost keep an arm around her shoulders. He still felt most comfortable with her right there, and she clearly reciprocated that feeling.

Anderson was waiting. "All right, well you both passed with flying colors. You're healing up nicely and the doctors deemed you both healthy enough mentally and physically to move on." She consulted her file. "Given that you both bottomed out the next step is to work on building your endorphins back up to a natural background level."

"How do we do that, Ma'am?" Cali asked quietly.

"Not the way you have been." Anderson replied. "And not drugs, the only ones that will do that are the opiates, and those are bad to be on long-term; too easy to get addicted or build up a tolerance."

Opiates, Spencer thought, like Dilaudid. "I wouldn't anyway."

"Good boy. So we do in the healthy way. You two are both starting an exercise routine in the morning, which Chris will supervise. This will also help you build back some muscle mass. Lots of sleep, lots of time outdoors for the sun and a healthy diet, with certain therapeutic elements," she handed a sheaf of papers to Mr. Parker. "We'll work that out with Vicente. Nutritional supplements, acupuncture of all things, regular therapy sessions with Dr. Kaufmann and talks with Chris here as well as interviews with other trainers who will be coming by. Granted, those would be optional for you Dr. Reid."

"If Cali's doing it then I'm doing it." Wait, why was she even asking him?

"Admirable. If you do all of it in about two weeks we'll re-evaluate, then a week or two after that we can see about getting you two back to work."

That all sounded…healthy. Spencer didn't see any problems with it. But it didn't address the key concern here. Not the way you have been, she said. But before he could say anything Cali spoke up. "What about the rest of it, Ma'am?"

Anderson looked up from the file she was holding, "The rest of it?"

Cali sighed. "Mr. Parker said something about being able to restoring the sensitivity of the endorphin systems, resetting psychologically….."

Okay, out with it. It was embarrassing to ask, but this entire thing was embarrassing, so he might as well. "Does going 'cold turkey' mean we can never…." Nope, still couldn't come right out and say it.

Anderson decided to answer him first. "No, it doesn't. You just need to take a break to heal up. If you're looking to 'reset', as Chris said, now that's a different matter. That's a lot harder. But if you want to experience 'falling in love' for yourselves and not just remember it as something that was forced on you we can give it a try."

Cali turned and looked up at him for reassurance. "I'd like that, Ma'am, if we can."

It may not be the manly cool thing to admit, but Spencer had to admit to himself that he'd always wanted to fall in love. To meet someone and somehow know that she was special, to slowly get to know her over the seasons, to feel that gentle growth of desire and connection culminating in a bonding that would last through time. And while he knew Cali was the one for him, while their enforced captivity had given them ample time to get to know each other fairly quickly, while he felt that close to her right now, having had the entire process short circuited by an Unsub did leave him with a great deal of regret. If he could go back and do it over… "I'd like that as well, Ma'am."

"All right then." Anderson looked them over carefully. "We're not doing this part cold turkey, you two have been through enough of that. We'll start slow. You two have been practically wearing each other since you got here. That stops. No more physical contact with anyone outside of medical care."

Spencer felt the hand on his leg tighten even as he tightened his grip on her shoulder. He didn't think he could do that. He didn't think… "That's not extreme? I mean, I'm sorry Ma'am, but…" Cali was so upset she'd slipped out of the usual exquisitely polite manners expected in this place.

"We're not sending either of you out to Virginia." Anderson replied, clearly giving them a bit of rope due to the situation. Spencer's heart nearly stopped when he heard the alternative. Not to even see her? No, that would be impossible. At least this way she would be there. "Now when you leave this room I want six inches between you both at all times. Chris will be watching. Just follow his directions." With that she gathered the files and swept out, Mr. Parker behind her.

As soon as the door shut Cali was in his arms. He was overwhelmed with her heat, her sweet, honeyed scent. "I don't know that I can do this." She said in a broken voice that was almost a sob.

Spencer didn't know either. Nothing brought him the sense of comfort, of peace, of warm acceptance like being in her arms. Nothing. To have to do without that would be impossible. And yet… "I think we have to, to get over this. I think we have to at least try. And it's not like we'll be far away. I'll be right here."

"I know. And I will, I just…." She turned to press a kiss into the hollow of his throat. "I love you."

To hell with this. He cupped her head and lifted it so he could kiss her again. She tasted of tea and spice, rich and sweet, something to remember. "I love you too. Let's hope this works."

A few moments later they were walking back into the kitchen, and not even holding hands. Spencer felt cold and empty, even though she was right there, only inches away. If he couldn't have seen her at that moment he might have lost it completely. But then another thought came to him. "How are we going to sleep now?" She turned to look at him with eyes gone huge in concern, if not fear. It just occurred to her as well that this meant no more curling up like puppies in the blankets, maybe not ever.

"This way," Mr. Parker led them down the hall to another set of pocket doors. The room beyond was large, and unlike the dark, oak, Arts and Crafts style of the rest of the house this one was floored and lined in honey pine and bore a distinct Japanese aesthetic. Workmen were clearly packing up, having installed something, and Toshio the junior trainer and Lidia the maid were making up the two twin beds that now occupied the space, each centered on an oriental rug to protect the flooring underneath. There were also nightstands and lamps and what looked to be cupboards built into the walls in the traditional manner. "Dr. Kaufmann said that neither of you are ready to sleep in separate rooms, but you're also not strong enough yet to be on the honor system."

Cali had stopped at the doorway. "I assume the tatami was taken out for cleaning, Sir?" She asked, looking at the floor. "It was due for it as I recall."

"Yes, and we replaced the shojigami in the screen as well." He pulled a sliding paper wall out of the pockets in the wall and pulled it together, locking it in the center, effectively cutting the room in two between the beds, and put the key in his pocket. The wall in question was translucent paper, even more delicate than the usual. Spencer and Cali both approached it to look. Unlike the usual solid paper this had been laser cut in a delicate leaf pattern. Sound, air, sight, all could pass through it easily, but not people. "You each get a side." He informed them. "There's a bathroom opposite the doors on either hall."

The door on the other side led to the hallway that also held Anderson's office. Spencer looked over at Mr. Parker. "Which side is closest to the outer door?" He asked.

"This side, you'd have to go past this door to get around to the other."

"Then I'd like this side, please." Just in case someone came visiting. Another Foyet was a distant possibility, but you couldn't be too careful.

"All right, Agent Morgan brought your things, you're going to be here the next few weeks, you might as well move in. Cali, you can bring your things down from the dorm. I assume Dr. Reid will help you."

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

It didn't take long before they were back, each on their respective sides, and unpacking. Spencer found one set of covered shelves that would do nicely for holding books and file crates from his current dissertation and whatever work he might do for the BAU while he was here. Another covered nook was a closet, and a tansu chest in the corner provided drawers and space for toiletries, that sort of thing. In one of the crates he found a tin of Garcia's chocolate chip cookies, a brace of troll dolls and a handful of small, framed pictures of his Mom and friends from his desk which he put on the cabinet, a box of wooden puzzles much like a star puzzle he had solved one time, his bag complete with chess set and a folded piece of paper.

Now that made him smile.

When Mr. Parker came back to check on them he nodded at a niche in the wall. "Is that the tokonoma?" He asked. A tokonoma was a designated display space, a place of honor that usually held a single scroll or piece of art and perhaps a flower or cherry branch. At the moment this one was empty.

Mr. Parker seemed pleased by his knowing this. "Yes, it is."

"May I hang something there?"

"Of course, I believe we have the appropriate hangers…" He checked another storage space, "Here."

"Thank you."

A few moments later there was a picture hanging in the tokonoma. It was hard to tell exactly what the subject matter was, except it involved stick figures and a sun and maybe a tree. But the caption, clearly dictated and written out in Will LaMontagne's firm hand, explained the meaning. _Get well soon Uncle Spencer. We miss you. Love Mommy, Daddy and Henry_. Here it was hanging directly opposite of the bed where he could see it every day.

"Your godson?" Cali asked from her side of the room.

"Yep, I can't wait to introduce you." He looked over at where she was arranging a set of pictures on top of her tansu, "Your family?"

"Yes, you know I'm going to take you home to Mum and Dad. You're going to love Kaleigh." She sighed and looked over at him. "We have a lot to get better for, don't we?"

Which was why this had to work, he thought, if it didn't they would end up in some seedy motel room, and having exhausted this, probably turning back to Dilaudud, and then… "Yeah, we do."

* * *

><p>They spent the rest of the day helping Vicente in the kitchen, cleaning vegetables in his case, ironing tea towels in hers, simple, mindless tasks that allowed them to stay in the same room while keeping them occupied. After supper they had personal time, which they spent in the servant's parlor, a small room with comfortable furniture. Vicente helped Spencer bring in a folding table before he went home for the night, and Spencer started trying to sort the hash Morgan had made of his files while he was moving them. Toshio was off in the library working on a paper, while Lidia was working on something with Anderson in another room. There was no TV in the house, but there was a radio and the BBC feed over NPR, and Cali liked to knit, so she made herself comfortable in another corner.<p>

Were it not for the dammed ongoing depression it would be nice. Spencer sipped the hot cocoa he'd been given, therapeutic as it turned out, and tried not to think about it.

His bed felt cold and empty that night. But when he rolled over he could see Cali in the dim night light. She was right there, inches away. He just couldn't touch her as he longed to. The paper was so delicate… "I love you."

"I love you." Cali reached over and carefully, gently placed one fingertip up to the screen. He reached over and very, very gently touched in return. It was breaking the rules, Mr. Parker and Anderson would be so upset surely, but…. "Good night Spencer."

"Good night."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

The next day set the pattern for the next few weeks.

Spencer woke early, as did Cali. It turned out that what he had assumed was a greenhouse was in fact a small gym and exercise pool. Mr. Parker met them there and set them to work. While he put Cali through a weight workout Spencer got the treadmill, and then he got the weights while Cali swam. Mr. Parker seemed demanding as hell, reminded him of Hotch in many ways, but in reality he just barely pushed them along at this point. At the end Spencer was wrung out, but even he had to admit that his mood had lifted somewhat. He also realized that he'd been apart from Cali for a whole hour, which seemed impossible. At that he turned to look for her, sudden panic taking him. The sight of her climbing out of the pool and heading for the shower helped enormously. Granted seeing her in her bikini, all that fine, pale skin, it just reminded him that he couldn't nip in there and join her, not now. He remembered the feel of her warm, wet skin and how she felt in his arms under the water, so close and so…

"Ahem."

Spencer turned and found Mr. Parker standing far closer than he expected, "Yes?"

"Shower, and just to be clear…."

* * *

><p><em>They huddled in the pitch dark. He'd always hated the dark. If nothing else he was learning that the dark was nothing to fear.<em>

_They'd broken a rule, made a promise they weren't allowed to make. Cali said this was a common punishment when a Trainer didn't want a punishment to be eroticized, and clearly the Unsub…Master did not want that._

_It was simple. No heat for twenty-four hours._

_In this case no heat meant no clothes, of course, which had been taken days before anyway. They also had to give up the blankets, and the warm water in the closet of a bathroom and the fire leaping up behind the glass. Only a 4x8 cell carved out of a shipping container, cold steel all around them, and each other to try to keep warm. _

_It could have been worse. He could have turned off the ventilation. He could that easily kill them._

_He held her in his lap, curled around her as they shuddered, trying to give each other what body heat they could. Not that it helped, they both had been slight to begin with and neither was much for insulation. But he tried; he tried to keep her warm._

_It amazed him how painful just being cold could be._

_All of a sudden the lights in the ceiling flared, bright white light filled the space. Even with his eyes closed the light lanced painfully through his head. He hid Cali's face against his chest to protect her. An angry voice came over the intercom. "Your statements were unacceptable. Do you understand?"_

"_Y..yes…Sir."_

"_Yes S…s…sir." Yes, Spencer thought as he nodded, yes, of course it was unacceptable. Of their own free will. They gave themselves over to him. Yes, yes, yes. He was able to crack his eyes open, see his breath and hers in the cold, see that where his fingers tangled in her hair they were turning blue._

"_Do you intend to follow through with those statements?"_

"_No, Sir."_

"_N…no, Sir."_

_All of a sudden the flames on the other side of the glass roared back to life, and training continued._

* * *

><p>It made perfect sense, he thought, as he stood there and let the hot water pound on his muscles for a time. He'd given that part of his life to Master of his own free will, and Master had never really given it back. But Master was a part of this system and according to Cali people sent their property to this place for more training.<p>

Now everything made sense, finally.

Maybe.

Wait...

Spencer let the hot water pour over his head and down his back and decided it wasn't worth being confused about. Mr. Parker was making those decisions, at least for now; one less thing to worry about.

The rest of the day was much more mundane. After their workout there was a break for coffee and chocolaty goodies, both of which were supposed to help raise and sustain endorphin levels. Then they helped with some of the kitchen chores until the acupuncturist came. They were poked and prodded and finally needled, which didn't hurt but which left him feeling relaxed and rather logy for a time. After Mr. Parker had them sit in the garden for letter writing, he to his Mom, she to her parents and friends back in England. Some days Dr. Mueller came instead to monitor their healing. On the days they didn't have medical treatments in the morning they helped with more intensive household chores, worked in the garden, helped turn every mattress in a very large house, washed the windows, simple things really. Simple tasks assigned with simple directions, and the simple pleasure of knowing how to do things exactly correct and have it noticed and appreciated.

After lunch they talked.

Some days it was with Dr. Kaufmann, the psychologist, which Spencer found rather fascinating. He wasn't trying to analyze back, but sometimes it just couldn't be helped. Other times he talked with Mr. Parker, discussions that ranged over far more intimate topics. Other times it was with the junior trainers who came to the house, who were clearly reading from set interview questions, learning how to conduct an interview at that depth. He found that there were many similarities to the post-conviction interviews they did with serial killers, and he ended up discussing interview techniques with them instead of being actually interviewed himself.

And, of course, a day or so after this phase started, Morgan came back to start the cognitive interview.

* * *

><p><em>Spencer sat up slowly. His head was doing the dip and spin that spoke of good old-fashioned chloroform. He could smell it on his shirt. The last thing he remembered he had been walking to his car after giving a lecture on family annihilators to a Criminal Justice class. He remembered opening the trunk and….yea, he thought, someone jumped me. He patted his belt, his pockets. That was right, his gun and his badge had been in his bag, but his phone and his keys…nope, not in his pockets anymore. Maybe his bag was… he blinked and tried to clear his vision again. Where was he?<em>

_He seemed to be in some kind of small cell. There was a hard floor under him, felt like concrete, and all around and over him a pile of blankets and pillows to soften it. The wall behind him was steel. The wall directly to his left was a steel door. He got up to try it and managed to whang his head off the steel above him. When he stopped seeing stars he realized that the cell was only about six feet high, which meant that he had to stoop, and that the ceiling was the kind of metal grating used in catwalks. He couldn't see what was above it, but he sensed that there wasn't much space up there. And there was a hissing noise coming from somewhere._

_The door was, of course, locked, as was the pass in the bottom of it. _

_The third wall was interesting. Also steel but with a thick glass plate set into it. Behind the glass a fire burned merrily, warming the cell. He peered past the flames, and saw the door that someone could use to feed it from the back. Nifty._

_He turned to check the fourth wall and landed on his knees as he nearly tripped over something solid._

_Something solid turned out to be a young woman. She looked to be built along JJ's lines before she had Henry, a simple floral dress, denim jacket against what had been a cool spring, interesting features, darker blond hair in loose waves to her shoulders. She was pretty. Reminded him a little of Mom in fact. And she was also still out cold, the drugs would take longer to wear off her slight figure. But she was breathing all right._

_He slid carefully past her to check the fourth wall; bathroom, very tiny. If you sat you could easily reach the sink, and you had to stand between them to get any sort of shower. There was a soap dispenser mounted in the wall but no towels, a tin cup chained to the sink for drinking, but nothing else. And from what he could tell, no light. _

_He did what wanted doing, and then came back out to sit in the blankets and think. They hadn't been on a case, was this retribution from a former case? Something new? Could he push the Unsub to communicate?_

_He turned when he heard the moaning, felt someone stirring in the blankets. The young woman was coming around, opened her eyes with a soft "oh"_

"_Shhh, don't try to sit up too fast."_

_She took his advice, but eventually managed to get to a sitting position, sat there blinking at him with these amazing intelligent eyes. There was just something about her. Of all the times to finally feel that…._

"_I'm, I'm sorry." Her accent was clipped, refined British. Oh good heavens. "What's going on?"_

"_I'm afraid nothing good."_

* * *

><p>"Now think back. Was there anything at that point to give this guy away? Anything at all, smell, sound?"<p>

They were sitting in the dining room. Cali was in Anderson's office, probably undergoing her own interview of some kind. Morgan had spread his notes over the table, and there was coffee and, in Spencer's case, a bar of chocolate. Funny, he had yet to get sick of the taste. "No, nothing, I had been speaking to some students on the way to the car, I was admittedly distracted." Morgan didn't have to ask, he rattled off their names. Maybe they had seen something.

"All right, keep going."

* * *

><p>"<em>We've been what?"<em>

_He could understand the growing panic he saw in her eyes, but a full blown case of it would not be helpful. "Now, now, calm down. It's going to be all right. Look, what's your name?"_

"_Calisa Nash. My…my friends call me Cali."_

"_Cali. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid."_

"_Dr. Reid? MD then?"_

"_PhD, and just call me Spencer, please." Please._

"_Spencer. Do you teach at Georgetown?"_

"_George Washington. Are you a student at Georgetown?"_

_She nodded. "I'm working on my Masters there, literature."_

"_Really? I'm working on a Masters in sociology." Marvelous, not only was she honestly interesting, it gave him a way to distract her while he went over the door again._

"_A second PhD?"_

"_Um, probably fifth, actually."_

"_Fifth? What do you have?"_

_It was an understandable reaction, "Mathematics, chemistry, engineering, psychology." Nope, the door was hopeless. "I also have a BA in philosophy. Did you do your undergraduate work at Georgetown?"_

"_No, Cambridge. I dual majored in Literature and business management." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm surprised you didn't assume Oxford."_

_He could feel himself starting to smile even as he tried to peer behind the grill over the ceiling, to see where that faint hissing noise was coming from. "Oxford isn't the only university in England. What period of literature did you study?"_

"_You would be amazed at how many of you Yanks assume that it is." She laughed a little, this sweet sound, "17__th __century, the Civil War era for us, Colonial for you."_

"_Us Yanks," he turned to smile at her. She'd removed her jacket, and was resting easily on her knees, sitting back on her heels, her hands neatly, almost precisely in her lap. Her posture was so good it was noticeable, she looked almost…prim. From this angle he noticed a simple watch, no rings, pearl earrings and an interesting looking charm on a heavier than average silver chain. Something was odd about it, but at the moment he couldn't tell what. She really was lovely. "My mother taught 15__th__ century, high Medieval."_

"_Really?" She asked, her smile growing. "Marvelous. Why didn't you follow her?"_

"_I wanted a challenge. I'd already read all of the books." He went back to trying to examine the space behind the grill. "So, are you a full time student?" Now why couldn't they be having this conversation in a little coffee house somewhere?_

"_Not exactly, um, I'm a housekeeper…of sorts." She chuckled a little. "You're about to ask which hotel I work at, aren't you?"_

"_No." He hadn't been. Too much time in the BAU, he'd learned not to make assumptions when asking questions. "Do you work at a hotel?"_

"_No, I do not. I'm training to work as a housekeeper in a manor house, actually."_

"_Really?" A manor house? He thought of all the literary classics set in manor houses, the British Imperial system, all that precision, the strict social order. "Wow, I didn't know that any still existed."_

"_A few do, in different places, including one right here in DC. I came to learn the American way of managing a house, I'm only going to school part time."_

"_Fascinating," all of a sudden the shadowy shapes behind the grill resolved themselves. He turned and began looking along the seams in the walls, already knowing what he would find._

_She must have sensed the change in his mood. "What is it?"_

"_Cameras, microphones, maybe a speaker;" there were pinhole cameras hidden in the seams of the metal walls as well. He turned and looked at her again. "He's watching us."_

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note<strong>: For everyone who is about to say "four PhD's", there was a rumor circulating around the start of Season 7 that Reid was the one out on sabbatical and while he was out he finished his fourth. I decided to go with it._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

"So were you able to initiate contact." Morgan asked.

"Not in any meaningful way." Spencer told him as the interview continued. "He fed us…."

* * *

><p>"<em>Wait, you've never seen Torchwood?" Cali sounded incredulous.<em>

_Spencer shook his head. Once he found the microphones he's tried to talk to the Unsub, but all he got was a pass drawer with a scattering of convenience store food. They'd dined on prepackaged turkey sandwiches and milk and split a small package of pretzel sticks. It had started out as a way to keep her calm while he tried to figure out what to do, but there was little to go on right now. Not exactly where he'd take a girl on a first date, but the conversation more than made up for it. "No, I've never even heard of it. Is it related to the Torchwood Institute from __Blood and Claw__? You know, where the __werewolves go after Queen Victoria?" At first he had been worried, given that she wasn't really a huge Trekkie, but she shared his views on Star Wars (Han shot first) and turned out to be a massive Dr. Who fan. She was also sweetly easy to talk to, and remarkably intelligent. Also graceful and poised and there was just something…._

_Okay, yes, this could be a problem. He was starting to fall here._

"_Yes. That became the Torchwood Institute in the last episode of the new season two, where Torchwood London was destroyed by the Cybermen and the Daleks. That was Torchwood team One I believe. They made a spinoff, based in Cardiff and focusing on Torchwood team Three, which was headed up by Capt. Jack Harkenss." Cali had finally relaxed somewhat; was sitting across from him in the pile of blankets. Her posture was still elegantly perfect to the point of being noticeable, and unlike most people he knew, he had yet to see her fidget at all. Instead she tended to sit perfectly still and yet make it look utterly comfortable, like she could stay like that for hours._

_Ohhh, wait. "Not the Captain Jack from __The Empty Child__, the one who became a companion to the ninth Doctor?"_

"_The one and the same, he's wonderful."_

"_This makes me think that Torchwood would be the more, ahem, adult spinoff." Given that Capt. Jack profiled as one of the few true omnisexuals he'd ever seen, in fiction or real life._

"_Very much so," she yawned hugely, finally moving to cover it. "Oh, I am sorry, that's rude of me." She held her watch up to the firelight. "But not surprising, it's three in the morning. Or maybe afternoon, I can't tell."_

_He sighed. "Neither can I, he took my pocket watch."_

_She smiled at him. "You wear a pocket watch?" _

"_Sometimes," he could feel his ears burning. "You're probably going to say that's the geekiest thing you've ever heard."_

"_No, not at all my…uh, the butler at Rothmere wears a pocket watch. I think it's quite distinguished."_

"_Rothmere?"_

"_Home. Manor house, ancestral seat of Lord and Lady Southerby. My parents work there, Mum's the housekeeper, Dad's the head gardener."_

"_Ahh. Following in your parent's footsteps then."_

"_Yes. I'll be the seventh generation in service in our family." She grinned "You're probably going to say that's the geekiest thing you've ever heard."_

"_No, I…um…I think it's kind of romantic actually. Anyway, one of the most common ways Un…people like this use to control their victims is to take away their sense of time and place. The disorientation is deliberate." Call it instinct but he did not want this one to know he was FBI. Not yet._

"_Well, I am not going to give him the pleasure of watching me worry about it then. I am thinking nap though. Excuse me." She got up and ducked into the small bath. _

_There was one problem with this cell. At all of four foot, maybe, by eight at best there was simply no way to make two beds. When she came back he pointed it out. "We could go nose to toes, I guess."_

"_No need. You, however, have the long sleeves so you get the side by the fire in case you roll." The glass was not that hot, but a sleeve would provide more protection than bare skin. They stretched out, feet toward the door, heads toward the bath, as many blankets as they could under them to provide a makeshift bed. Spencer lay carefully on his back, his fingers laced over his chest. "What are you doing?" She asked as she lay down beside him._

"_Um, nothing." She was lying right up against him; he could feel every curve through her thin dress, warm and soft. She smelled like honey, how did girls do that? "That's kind of the point."_

"_Nonsense, I'm not a fragile flower and you're taking all the space. Roll this way." _

_He did so, gingerly, only to have her roll away from him, then reach back, take his arm, and pull it over her waist. It was much more comfortable, and yet so much more intimate, with her rounded backside inches from his… and his hand so close to her… "You know, I never asked. Do you have a boyfriend?" He felt her grow tense under his arm, like a bow suddenly pulled. "Husband?" No, wait, maybe. "Girlfriend?"_

"_None of the above," she told him. "I am romantically unattached. How about you? Wife? Husband?"_

"_Uh, no, none of the above; I'm unattached myself." There's something she's not telling me, he realized, something about her romantic past. "This couldn't be a stalking ex-boyfriend, could it?"_

_She was relaxing again, and that question did nothing to stop that process. "No, not at all," he heard her yawn. "He's not going to come in here, is he? You're going to protect me while I sleep?"_

_He was smiling as she relaxed; now it seemed the most natural thing to do to pull her in snug, hold her a bit closer and feel her against him, "Always."_

* * *

><p>"You didn't explore that further?" Morgan asked him.<p>

"Not then. Things started really happening after we woke up."

* * *

><p><em>He woke up sometime later, stiff and sore as hell from not moving and sleeping on too little padding over thin concrete. He blinked several times, wondering when someone poured sand in his eyes, and rolled enough to get a look at her watch. It was ten, either AM or PM. Impossible to tell.<em>

_He scooted around until he could get to his feet then stagger in to stoop over in the tiny bathroom. His eyes were sore and hot and far too dry. He should not have slept with his contacts in, he thought. Now he needed his…oh hell._

_He came back out just as Cali was stirring and knelt beside her in the makeshift bed. She must have noticed something on his face. "Good morning. What's wrong?"_

"_Good morning. I'm afraid I'm going to be going blind on you here fairly soon."_

"_Why?" That got her attention, had her sitting up and looking at him._

"_Contacts." They were still functional at the moment, but without any kind of drops they weren't going to be anywhere close to comfortable that much longer. "I don't even have a place to put them when I take them out, and no glasses." He had already bemoaned the loss of his bag. _

"_Maybe we can use one of the milk bottles, rinse it out well. It would at least hold them."_

"_That might work." Granted he wouldn't be able to put them back in, but it was something. "At least I don't have to read anything."_

_She stepped to the bath. While she was in there the pass drawer opened. Inside were two milk bottles, two corn dogs, and two packages of potato wedges. The only thing going for them was that they were warm. Under that were two clipboards, with two pencils attached._

_Well this was new._

_He was looking them over when she came out and dropped down beside him. Her hair was a bit damp, probably from splashing her face and given the lack of towels. They were conserving the toilet paper, just in case. "What is this?" She asked as he handed her breakfast._

"_Corn dogs."_

_She looked at it with a touch of despair. "I am going to pretend this is a sausage pasty. If he's going to do takeout, my kingdom for some decent curry."_

_It just kept getting better. "Ok, you are the first other person I've met who likes Indian food."_

_She sagged with longing. "Oh I miss it terribly. Do you know a good place in DC?" _

"_I know about four." He stopped to blink a moment. "I think I just asked you out to dinner four times."_

_She'd gone that too tense sort of unnatural quiet again. But after a moment she said. "If I can, I'd love to." She looked over at the clipboards. "What's that?"_

"_I don't know; some kind of questionnaire. I haven't had a chance to take a look at it yet. He probably heard me say that I wasn't going to be able to read soon." He passed her one but decided to finish his so-called breakfast before having a look._

_She started right in as she nibbled. She looked, and turned very pale, and looked utterly shocked. "Bloody hell," she muttered. Then she turned up to where the microphones were. "Hey! Hello! I don't know who you are but…I can't do this. I'm a retainer at Rothmere. Mr. Dalton is my trainer-of-record, you can call him. I'm training in town under Mr. Parker. Look, I'm not rated for this kind of service, I can't…" That faint hissing, that background static noise stopped. "What the hell?"_

_All of a sudden Spencer placed that sound. "He stopped pumping in air." Now it was his turn to call out to the mysterious Unsub. "She'll do it, all right? I'll…I'll make her do it. Just…just turn the air back on, please!"_

_The faint hissing started up again._

_Point made._

_But Cali had worked herself to a state of near panic. "No!" She said more quietly to him. "I can't do this! I'm not supposed to!"_

"_Look." He leaned in and, as quietly as he could, explained the situation to her. The FBI, the BAU, that they were being held by an Unsub, and serial offender, and… "SOP in these situations is to pacify the Unsub, do whatever he wants, play to his fantasy and try to keep your eyes open for an opportunity to get word out. My team is looking for us, I know that, and they will find us, we just have to survive until they get here. And if that means filling out forms then we fill out forms, all right."_

_She looked like her world was crumbling under her, but she nodded. "It's just…I know what this means and…"_

"_Whatever it is we'll get through it." He finally had a chance to look at them. Quality paper, a letterhead with a crest, something he didn't recognize. The first page of questions were all about him, age, size, general medical, education, employment – college professor for that one, hopefully the lie wouldn't be caught- so on and on. He looked over and found her nervously filling out the same._

_The second of several pages got more….personal._

_He could feel his own jaw dropping as he flipped through the rest. They were very detailed, very specific, questions about his sex life. Desires, fantasies, experiences… He looked over to where she was trying to work through them, clearly shaking. _

_Oh boy._

_Well, as difficult as this might be it wasn't going to change anything. SOP was still to pacify the Unsub, even if that meant… "Um, given where this is going I think I ought to tell you something." Boy he wasn't going to be able to answer a lot of these._

"_Are you about to say you've never done this before?" She murmured back._

_Well... "Do you mean filled out a questionnaire like this or had sex? Granted the answer to both is no."_

"_Neither have I."_

"_To which?"_

"_Both."_

_Oh boy._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

"So I'm assuming you didn't let that go?" Morgan asked him.

"Oh of course not," Spencer told him. "You don't let a massive chunk of data like that go by. As soon as we were done I asked her what was going on so I could work that information into the profile I was building."

* * *

><p><em>Spencer probably shouldn't have jumped right in after the shock and embarrassment of that questionnaire, but he didn't know how much time they had and he needed all the data he could gather; which meant that he had now been shocked for the second time in twenty minutes. "You're a what?"<em>

_Cali took a deep breath. "I'm a slave." She answered just that simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Consensually, of course, I signed a training contract when I turned eighteen. I've been one for eight years. I did a six year contract, with Mr. Dalton's encouragement, to attend university. I'm on my last year of a two-year to specifically train for housekeeper."_

"_So, you're a sex…"_

"_Absolutely not," she interrupted him. "I'm not available for sexual service, that's specified in my contract. I told you, I'm studying to be a housekeeper. America is funny that way, everyone wanting to have sex with everyone, willy nilly. In the rest of the world there are slaves who specialize in that sort of thing and others who specialize in other services. In Britain it's actually considered déclassé to sleep with the staff."_

_Okay, maybe he could get this to click. "So you sign a contract…"_

"_Specifying my role and guaranteeing my loyalty and service for a certain period of time in exchange for room, board, training, medical, all sorts of perks, and at the end of my contract I receive a percentage of my sales price. According to Mum well trained housekeepers can go for quite a bit, and if I make it through training in Anderson's house I'll be top of the line. Next year I'll probably try for a ten year contract in one of the great houses in a private sale, or so Mr. Dalton said. They generally don't send people who aren't rated for sexual service to general auction."_

"_Ten years. You would…commit yourself to something like that for ten years?"_

"_Why not, it is job security. If all goes well I could have between three and five hundred thousand pounds in the bank at the end of it. Most of my University friends are still unemployed and living in their parents' flats. Granted not everyone can be a slave, you have to have the right sort of temperament for that kind of life. But I was raised around people who are a part of this; I can't imagine any other sort of life really."_

"_Tell me about this organization?"_

"_It's an international organization that trains clients to act as servants for very wealthy, very demanding people, and then organizes and monitors sales and trades. Sort of the overarching governing body I suppose."_

"_And how did you hear of it?"_

"_Oh my parents are slaves. I told you, seven generations. It's been around for centuries."_

"_And we've never heard of this thing?" Spencer was still trying to assimilate data here._

"_Well, it is kept very discrete. But it's all legal; they conform to the rules of every country they operate in."_

"_So, theoretically you could break your contract at any time."_

_She gapped a bit at that. "In theory, I mean, they couldn't hold me against my will. And wouldn't, Anderson and Mr. Parker are very honorable about that. But I would owe back my training cost, including returning the reimbursement for my degree. And I doubt I would ever be able to go back." She frowned at the thought. "I don't know that I would want that. I rather enjoy the life."_

"_You do?"_

"_It's…perfect. When you were at university did you ever notice other people's work? I mean, I'm sure you see it with your students now, they just don't care. Everyone is looking to get away with the absolute minimum. No one appreciates attention to detail anymore and no one takes pride in providing excellent work. No one values that anymore and you're almost laughed at for trying to make the effort."_

_He considered her, carefully. "I've…noticed. People don't seem to want to…better themselves." Was that what she was getting at?_

"_Exactly! But in my world it's expected and encouraged all the time. The more attention you pay to details the more you're appreciated. The more you're valued."_

_Something was missing though. "I would expect a certain amount of objectification."_

_She sighed, "True. The Owners do have little consideration for you as a person. But it's their money that makes the whole thing work; they express their appreciation with dollars more than care. You actually get paid what you're worth in that system. It's the Trainers that matter, really. They're like a…a coach or a tutor, you're more than just a client to them; you're a reflection of their work and skill. They really get to know you as a person, in a way that just makes you want to make them proud. And you're always a part of their house, they're always there for you, your advocate and your protector if need be. Mr. Dalton was so proud when I was accepted to Cambridge and then to Georgetown and to work with Mr. Parker. And he was right there for me the entire time, when I had my appendix out he took care of everything, had Mum and Dad driven to the hospital, took care of all the bills, had one of the other maids look after me until I was on my feet, the whole deal; even sent flowers. Nobody else could say that they were looked after that well when they took sick."_

_He watched the glow that came into her eyes, the pink in her cheeks. However strange and disturbing he might consider her life one thing was clear, she was very, happy and secure in it, far more than he had ever felt anywhere, even at the BAU. "It…sounds wonderful." Hell, when he got shot he didn't even get cookies. And sometimes it seemed like all of his accomplishments were more of an embarrassment to the team than something to be proud of, the walking computer, the geek who never knew how to act around people…_

"_It is. I rather love it. I just hope I get a good place when my contract is sold. Oh, and to answer your previous question, I'd love to go out to dinner, but I have to ask Mr. Parker for permission first." She chuckled a little. "He can't tell me not to have a relationship, but slaves don't exactly get regular time off."_

"_I could see how that would be a problem in a relationship. He can't say no?"_

"_No. Like I said, my contact specifies no sexual service. I'm not rated for that, that aspect of my life is entirely my own." She shrugged. "I saw enough of that at Rothmere and it never interested me. I always wanted to fall madly in love and share that with one person. But that's me."_

"_You saw enough of that?"_

_She blushed, she actually blushed. "Well many people in the system are rated for sexual service. No one bothers to hide it. I…never have and I've never filled out the forms for it, but I have served tea in a few…demonstrations, parties, that sort of thing. You're around it all the time really. Part of my duties was to maintain the equipment, keep an eye on people who can't keep an eye on themselves…"_

"_Keep an eye on themselves?"_

_She blushed again. "When someone is in bondage you have to make certain they're not being injured, you know, the ropes aren't too tight, no one's losing circulation and everyone can breathe. When I was working as the upstairs maid that was my job at times. It was part of training, Rothmere is a Training House."_

"_So you're not going back to Rothmere?"_

"_Can't, my Mum has the housekeeper spot there, there isn't an opening. Besides, it would be hard to pay Mr. Dalton back for my training if I worked for him. No, I have to take a ten year somewhere else first, then hopefully they'll buy me back there."_

"_So where will you go?"_

"_I don't know. A slave doesn't get to pick their Owners. I could end up anywhere in the world. Whoever they are they'll be up to the current standards and I trust the system. And Mr. Dalton, since it's going to be a private sale he'll be able to vet the owners, try to find the best offer for me." She smiled again. "I admit I'm rather nervous about it. But kind of excited too, to finally be able to do what I trained for."_

"_When they do, will you change this?" Spencer reached over and gently picked up the item on the end of the chain she wore. He'd thought it was a charm at first, then perhaps a locket. But now that he knew all this he realized what it was._

_It was a lock._

_It was a small, round, vintage lock engraved in a Victorian pattern. Worked into the pattern was some kind of crest. "It was my Great-great-grandmother's when she was in training." Cali told him "It's the house training lock pattern. When my contact is sold I'll get one from my new owners, and then if I return to Rothmere I'll have her senior staff lock to wear."_

"_And there's a difference?"_

"_Yes, it's more like belonging to a…a corporate entity. House positions tend to be more stable, with longer contracts."_

"_It's beautiful." The lock was, heavy with the weight of the traditions behind it. He was going to ask more when he heard the drawer open behind him. Turned to look and found two more clipboards. "More paperwork, is it always like this?" _

"_In training. Tons of papers, hours of interviews. They have to really get to know you to…." She looked them over and the color drained from her face again. "No, I…."_

"_Shhh." He pulled her into him, covered her mouth. "Remember SOP. Pacify the Unsub."_

"_But Spencer, look at it!" She looked desperate._

_He looked. It was just a few pages, quickly gone over. But it only took the first page to realize why she was so upset. "It's meaningless." He hissed at her. "From what you've told me I doubt your organization would accept something signed under duress."_

"_But it's a contract! A full contract, not training, no exceptions, the entire thing." She was almost crying. No, she was crying. "I never…"_

"_Just keep him happy. I'll…I'll find a way to make this up to you somehow." He could see how important this was to her. In and of itself this was a violation. Damn. He quickly scrawled his name on the appropriate line and turned his attention back to her. "They will find us, I swear."_

_She whimpered, shrank from the very idea, but at last signed her name. He took the clipboard from her and put it back in the drawer which shut quietly. "Oh my God." She moaned. "What have we done?"_

"_Survived so far." To get back on point. "You said these were their forms. I'm assuming they don't just hand them out to anyone who comes in the office."_

"_No. He would have had to get them from one of the Training Houses or business offices."_

"_That means he's affiliated somehow, or was. What happens if you break the rules?"_

"_A slave? Corporal punishment of some sort, usually. Something you can't eroticize if you're the sort who tends to do that."_

_She kept throwing out details that derailed his thought train. "You mean you've been..."_

"_Caned? A few times. Not in years, I really don't eroticize that sort of thing, and I don't believe in making mischief." Cali blinked at him. "Oh don't look at me like that, it wasn't all that horrid."_

_Right, she wasn't harmed by the experience, mentally or most likely physically. Back on track here. "What about the…trainers, the owners?"_

_Well, I…don't know. Sanctions, I suppose. And stiff fines for the Owners I guess."_

_Spencer looked around the tiny cell. "What about for making people do things against their will? Something specifically not in their contract?"_

"_If it was problematic enough? They'd eventually be kicked out entirely."_

"_Meaning?"_

"_No contact. No working with anyone affiliated, no visiting any slave holding house, not being able to associate in any way. And they would have to pay fines, maybe cover training costs."_

_Spencer nodded. "A loss of an entire way of life. That's the sort of thing that would trigger someone. Who's been kicked out recently?"_

"_No one."_

"_No, think, there has to be someone."_

"_No." He opened his mouth to speak and she shook her head. "I've only been in the States for four months. If it happened before I got here no one would have told me."_

_Damn, good point. "But why would he have waited this long?"_

"_Maybe he started with soft-worlders."_

"_Soft-world?"_

"_People who enjoy paraphilia behavior on a part-time basis, who aren't involved with the organization. Kinksters, leather people, professionals, that sort of thing. But their rules are different from ours, they don't do contracts, really, they use safe words instead."_

_He nodded. He'd read about that side of things, there were several binders on BDSM behavior back at the office. "So he might have tried to woo people in to this, only to have them balk when he tried to impose this system. That didn't work so he started pulling people off the street. This isn't so much a cell as a movie set. He must have been from the DC area, he's comfortable here…."_

_Just as the profile was coming together an intercom crackled to life._

* * *

><p><strong>Morgan<strong>

"And then what happened?" Morgan asked.

Reid looked to be clearly lost in his memory, every sound, every smell; he'd done very well with this so far. But at this point in the narrative he faltered. "Kind of a lot."

Morgan sighed. They'd been at this for hours. Reid had only taken breaks when he heard the door open, heard his girl moving from one interview to another. You could almost see him switching back and forth between the FBI agent he'd been and whatever this new thing was. It was the sort of thing where he either had to go entirely one way, entirely the other, or integrate the two in a way he could live with. The constant flicking back and forth was not something the human psyche could bear for long. He just hoped the FBI made it in the mix in the end. But that meant he really shouldn't push. "All right. Let's take a break for now. I'll come back; see what else you can remember."

"Okay." Reid was still locked in the past. But after a moment his eyes came around to his friend. "Who's going to be interviewing Cali?"

That was a good question. "So far only Rossi and I know what's going on here." The good thing about a dead Unsub, it was a closed case. But they wanted to know everything they could in case it happened again. "Who do you want to do the interview?"

Reid blinked a few times. "You could tell Emily."

But, by extension, not Garcia or Hotch or JJ. That made sense for him. "All right.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Dave Rossi's house  
>Potomac, MD<strong>

**Emily**

"It's a what?" Emily could not have heard that right. Could. Not.

"An organization for the training, sale and support of those who want a lifestyle of consensual slavery," Rossi repeated patiently.

She had heard him right. She took another long sip of the rich, red wine he was serving, this being off hours. Well, okay. "And you're involved with this? Hiding someone in the basement we don't know about?"

"No, for one thing I prefer the chase; those people make it too easy. For another I refuse to pay those prices."

"How much do slaves cost?"

"I have yet to see one go for less than a hundred thousand." He told her. "And that was a one-year, first time contract with no specialization and minimal training. A specialist, an expert in their field, on a multi-year contract with some experience under their belts, we're talking millions. And you have to be able to provide room, board and medical."

Morgan whistled. "What about Cali?'

"Slaves are never allowed to know what they're worth while they're in, but privately Anderson told me that she expects 1.5 million for her first ten year contract." Rossi nodded at the shocked look in both their eyes. "She's trained in what they call the British Imperial system, and people who do are rarely sold outside of that system, and then she's both cross-trained with Parker and done finish training under Anderson, and she has a top-notch University degree. And she is very, very good at her role. That makes her both rare and valuable. Granted she'll have to remit the cost of all that training as well as her tuition, but even after that she'll clear a million for the first contract, easy. And if she keeps going for another thirty years after that, which is not unknown for her role, and with the added experience…"

"…she could retire with five million in the bank, easy." Emily laughed. "I wouldn't mind an IRA like that."

"You and me both," Morgan agreed. "Granted, I wouldn't be willing to give up my autonomy for it. It's not like she can quit if the boss turns out to be an ass."

"There is that." Emily agreed. She turned back to Rossi. "Okay, start from the top. How did you get involved?"

"A friend of mine, Peter Delaney, is an owner. He always has a couple of people working at his place; he always called them the Cook and the Houseboy. I figured they were hired staff; he has the money for it and he's not the only friend I have with staff. But his were always different, somehow they were better. Everything was spot on perfect, everything has this flow. I'd go to someone else's house and the maid would ask if I wanted coffee. I go to his house and coffee appears just as I'm starting to think about it, already fixed just the way I like it, that sort of thing. I admit, I admired it and I said so. Then a few years ago, before I came back to the BAU I went out on a book tour in Europe. He got a hold of me and asked me if I would be willing to give a talk at this week-end get together he was attending, at a place called Kaleigh Castle."

"I've heard of that place." Emily said. "It's a hotel outside London. They do corporate retreats, high-end conventions, that kind of thing. But there was a rumor that they hosted some pretty kinky week-ends. Did you friend invite you to one?"

"Yes, he did." Rossi replied. "But I didn't know it at the time. For starters I had to wear a tux. "

"And what were the slaves wearing?" Morgan asked.

"Livery. Literal servants livery, not the cutesy kinky versions either. We made polite chit-chat over drinks at first. It seemed like everyone there wanted to get to know me but they were all good at deflecting questions about themselves. It was an international crowd, I got that much."

"After that what happened?" Emily asked.

"An eight-course meal right out of a period movie, formal, elegant and flawless; I have to admit I enjoyed the entire experience. After dinner we retired to the library for drinks…"

"…when the show started," Morgan interrupted.

Rossi glared at him. "…where I gave a talk on profiling techniques and their use with psychopathic personalities."

"Profiling?" Emily was skeptical. She thought this group had to do with sex.

"Profiling, and let me tell you, the Q and A session after was more interesting than the one I gave at Scotland Yard the following week. Those people were seriously up to date on the subject."

"Profiling?" Now Morgan sounded skeptical.

"Mmm-hmmm, two weeks later I was in France and Peter showed up. He took me out to dinner, told me all about it, and offered me an invitation to join it."

'And you joined up?" Emily said.

"Not yet. When I finished the tour I went back to Kaleigh Castle. This time I stayed a few days, that's what sold me."

"I would assume you finally got someone in your bed but I've been wrong so far." Morgan shook his head. "What sold you?"

"This." Rossi got up and stepped around the corner, coming back with a large basket full of reports. "What they call interviewing clients and studying human behavior. What we call profiling."

Emily couldn't help it. She picked up one of the reports and started paging through it. "They profile people?"

"They profile each other, the slaves or clients if you will, the Owners, the trainers as they work their way up into the system. Granted they focus more on sexuality, not psychopathology, but…"

"But there is a hell of a lot of overlap. There's a lot here." Morgan said, looking at the box.

Rossi started laughing. "This is just for this month. Think hundreds of years, thousands of profiles, reams of reports from people studying human behavior. The library at Kaleigh Castle is bigger than our office and they have at least a dozen more libraries just like it around the world, as well as their own intranet." For the first time in all this they heard actual desire coming out of Rossi. "It's more data than you could absorb in a lifetime."

Morgan and Emily looked at each other and then corrected him in unison. "Reid."

"Good point." Rossi chuckled. "Now that he knows about it I may see if he can find a way to incorporate all that data into the BAU library. I have yet to figure out how without letting the FBI in on that organization. That's the one thing they insisted on, discretion."

"I'm surprised you even left the library." She put the report back in the box lest she become too distracted.

"I didn't have to stay, it's a lending system." Rossi was, yes, almost grinning. "They're working on digitizing it. You can get copies of any report up to a certain point, after that they lend them out, mail them to you, and translate for you if needed. About every month or two I go pick up a stack of reading material at their office in DC."

"So you've been holding out on us." Morgan teased lightly. He flashed a quick grin at Emily, she knew he was as geeky as she was, not as bad as Reid, but enough to find the thought of all that data temptingly sweet.

"Like I said, discretion."

"So sex never came up in any of this? I mean, other than outside the reports?" Morgan asked.

"My first night at Kaleigh Castle the valet quietly informed me that if I desired companionship at any time I should inform him and he would see that someone was sent to my room. I told him I did not desire companionship on that trip, but thank you very much, and it wasn't brought up again. I was curious however, and asked about it the next day. I ended up in a meeting with a Mr. Dalton. Dalton was the head Trainer at Rothmere, their big training house in England. Turned out Kaleigh Castle is one of a number of hotels operated by that organization, and one of their training resources. He explained that there are different training systems, different priorities and focus of interest for nearly every major house, as well as regional or national differences. The Asians, for example, are known for their brutality, the Southern Europeans for their sensuality, and so on. At Rothmere they worked with what was known as the British Imperial system, which was unique in that there was no sex involved and a relative low emphasis on psychology. Instead they focused on traditional service roles, butlers, maids, nannies, that sort of thing."

"I guess you don't really need to dig too far into someone's lovemap if all they're going to do is polish your floor." Morgan said.

"And historically it would be considered beneath someone to sleep with the staff." Emily added.

Rossi nodded in agreement. "He explained that the Eastern US system there was more interest paid to people's sexuality and to their psychological state as well. In the US most people are recruited from what we would consider the leather or fetish community whereas in the British Imperial system far more are actually from families who have served for generations, hence the difference. So rather than have everyone try to cover everything they cross-trained, American clients travel to Britain to learn the specifics of certain service roles, British clients travel to America to dive into the psychological and or sexual side. He had two American clients in house; both rated for sexual service, which he would have sent along if I had requested it."

Emily nodded. She was following so far. "So how does all this relate back to the case?"

Rossi refilled everyone's wine. "Remember when I said there were different systems that specialize in different aspects? The British focus on service, loyalty and precision, not sex or meaning. The East Coast system includes sex, but with a focus on long-term relationships, looking for people with the desire to serve above everything else, regardless of orientation of preferred paraphilia. That's why the emphasis on psychology. But they've been having a problem with the West Coast houses. They tend to focus purely on the sex, on the kink, putting out pretty little blond toys for new money types who want something different to play with every time they turn around."

"Mmm," Emily nodded in understanding. "High turnover then, not enough time to develop a good profile; that sounds like a good way to let something dangerous into your tidy system."

"And they did. Michael Howard, our Unsub. He came out of one of the West Coast houses. The way it was explained to us it's the exact opposite of the British system, everyone is expected to be willing and able to perform sexually at all times. There is no such thing as limits. And if you get upset with that it's a chance for 'discussion', not censure of the person who pushed."

"Sounds like a great environment for an Unsub. He can act out any fantasy he wants, get as brutal as he'd like, and no one would complain."

"Right, but then he came out here for more training. Imala Anderson is what's known as a Trainer of Trainers, an expert in the field, one who can add certain ratings to someone's personnel file, something like that. Trainers send their student trainers from around the world to work with her." He chuckled. "Turned out I knew her. Back when we were setting up the BAU we crossed paths at a number of seminars. She specializes in what's known as anticipatory service, being able to read behavior so well you know what someone wants or needs almost before they think about it." He picked up his wine again. "In other words, profiling."

Morgan and Emily both sat back, "Being able to read someone so well you can get out ahead of them. That's hard enough to do, let alone teach." Emily said.

Rossi nodded. "Her second, Chris Parker, started in the US Eastern system but then cross trained with both the British Imperial and Japanese systems. He's been starting his own program to bring a slightly modified version of the British system to the US, keep the focus on service and hierarchy and off the sexuality but encourage people to be more generalized, with a thorough grounding in technology. He's focusing on Owners who might just want one person to manage the house, do some light cooking, a little secretarial work, that sort of thing, for a longer term contract and then someone else to handle the sexual side. To that end he's been cross-training people with Dalton."

Emily sighed as the problem came into sight. "Oh, I can see where this is going. Parker had some of Dalton's people in house when Howard got there, people who weren't anticipating any sort of sexual involvement. And then Howard forced them to perform…"

"…and Parker cried rape on their behalf. The system would have censured Howard, busted him down the ladder for more training, but when Anderson sat him down and started interviewing him she realized they were dealing with a psychopath. She couldn't go to law enforcement, she tried to reach me but I was out of the country at the time and no cop was going to listen to her, they wouldn't understand her experience. And the victims were in a BDSM situation, that's almost impossible to prosecute. But she did have enough influence to get him expelled from the system."

"Not only cutting him off from his victim pool but also from his social networks and his source of income." Emily shook her head. "That is one hell of a trigger. And her profile didn't catch that?"

"They profile for paraphilia, not pathology. That's our job. He tried recruiting from the local BDSM community but they weren't willing to play along with the total control aspects of his fantasies the way people in the system did. He tried prostitutes, but even they refused to go along. Finally he started abducting people who fit his fantasy and forcing them to perform."

"And would probably threaten to kill them if they didn't, which eventually they wouldn't, he would push too far." Emily nodded, it all fit. "So, did he target Cali directly? Did he know she came out of their system?"

"From what we could tell, no; she crossed paths with the ones who he had attacked in transit, and it's not something they would have explained to her when she arrived here. Everything was on a need to know basis and she didn't need to know. But she was working on her Masters; they allowed her to continue that, she was taking a class at Georgetown."

"And Reid was leaving a lecture. Howard was targeting college students. So it was just wrong place, wrong time." Damn it. "But why did he keep them so long?"

"Endorphins," Rossi settle back. "Behold the elephant that always lives in the corner of the room."

"I don't understand."

"Another problem they've been having with the West Coast houses is Owners or their guests slipping slaves illegal substances to help everyone loosen up and have a good time. One of the ways they've been combating this is by carefully observing their clients to see how they react to narcotics and other drugs when administered in a medical situation. In her second year at Cambridge Cali's appendix ruptured. She spent a couple of days on morphine. After that they put a strict no-narcotics note in her file, too high an addiction risk."

All of a sudden it started patting in to shape. "Oh my God..." Emily breathed.

Rossi sipped his wine and nodded. "Take two people who perfectly fit each other's lovemaps, so they're likely to fall in love. Make them both virgins, yes…." He nodded "…so they're matched sexually. Give them complimentary levels of background information, Reid on how to handle an Unsub, Cali Nash on how to act out a BDSM scenario, so they have to work together to survive."

"Give them every reason to work together to pacify the Unsub, which is SOP in these cases." Morgan added. "They weren't going to have any problem acting out whatever he wanted, no matter how kinky. They weren't going to have any problem doing whatever he wanted."

Rossi nodded again. "And then give them both a high addiction potential."

"They started getting high off it." Emily groaned, of course.

"Mmm-hmm. Endorphin. **Endo**genous mo**rphin**e, the body's natural opiates."

"That's why he kept them so long. He killed the other victims when they said no, they refused. But Reid and Cali Nash never did, just like the slaves he was used to from California. I mean at first it probably would have been Reid following SOP to give us time to find him, but eventually they would have been doing it for the buzz." Well crap little brother, Emily thought, this sucks for you.

Rossi sipped his wine again. "Mmm-hmm, which led to the next problem."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Dave Rossi's house  
>Potomac, MD<strong>

**Emily**

"What's that?" Emily wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Tolerance," Rossi replied.

Tolerance? It took Emily a moment but then it hit her. "Of course, if they did it often enough they'd need more to get high.

They finally reached the point in the conversation where Morgan could really jump in. "If you think of every scenario the Unsub had them acting out as a hit of a drug then they were getting three, four, even five hits every twenty-four hours. We found hours of videos. Eventually they had to start ramping up the behavior just to get that high."

"Only we're not talking an actual drug." Emily reminded him. "How do you build your endorphin level? There's no way they could exercise that much in that space, and sex only goes so far…"

"…but if you've spent your life around people who eroticize pain then you can probably figure out how to yourself." Rossi pointed out. "And pain is infinite."

For the umpteenth time in this conversation Emily's jaw dropped as the hammer of knowing popped her again. "They pushed too far. That's why Howard let them go. He didn't kill them in the trash because they were good slaves who both deserved better and who would keep their mouths shut, at least in his mind, but they pushed **his** limits too far so he couldn't keep them."

Both men nodded. "According to this Chris Parker the last thing they did was about the most painful act he knows of outside of needing specific equipment or leaving permanent disfiguration." Rossi said.

"What did they do?" Emily asked.

"He wouldn't tell us. He was too embarrassed on their behalf."

"I can't imagine what Reid is going to feel like when he realizes what he's done."

"Yeah, well, that's what therapists are for." Morgan nodded.

"But how do you get over…trashing your system like that? Is there any way to resensitize, to undo the tolerance?"

"Time and good old TLC, both of which Anderson and Parker are able to give them in quantity, they know how to fine tune to the needs of the client and don't have to go out to catch serial killers. But a couple of other problems have also arisen."

"Oh?"

"First off, do you remember Ray Donovan and Syd Manning?"

Emily thought back. "They're the ones who went on the killing spree across the Northwest, the couple who had just married. They met at an AA meeting…" Oh, of course. "Did they fall in love because they shared an addiction or did they share the addiction because they fell in love?"

"Thankfully so far it looks like the latter." Rossi told her. "They've already turned down a few chances to ease off the behavior, taper off the high. Instead they chose to stay together despite having to go cold turkey to do so."

"Well that's got to be a good sign. I just hope they have something else to build on."

"They do." Morgan tossed her a file. "We have a copy of the profile they did on her. The format of the forms is different but it covers the same ground. I would have set her up with him as a blind date, easy. But, be warned, the pictures are a requirement."

"The pictures?" Emily took one look and turned the sheet of pictures over. Oh hello. "Well, she is cute. Nice figure. What was the other problem?"

Rossi looked at her, "The rest of the lovemap."

* * *

><p>"<em>According to Money a person's unique lovemap not only describes the ideal person but also the ideal pattern of activity." Anderson said. "We look not only for people who share the physical characteristics and character traits of the person who taught us to love, but we also look for someone who will join us in recreating the scenarios that introduced us to the concept of arousal. Now Money referred to a lovemap that included paraphilia as 'vandalized', insisting that such development had to be based in trauma, and much of the time he was right. But for Calista, growing up at Rothmere and visiting Kaleigh, she would have been exposed to BDSM as a part of the background environment. We know that's part of her lovemap; that came out in testing."<em>

"_Yeah, but Reid hasn't had any experience that we know of." Rossi insisted. They were still working on the profile to find this bastard and bring Reid home. Time enough to sort what happened to him when he was safe._

_But Morgan was sitting back. He saw where Anderson was going with this now, and he didn't like it. Not one little bit. "No. He put up with a lot of bullying in junior high and high school, including around discovering girls and sex." He could see how being tied naked to the goalpost by the hottest girl in school and then being laughed at could complicate things. And that was probably just one example._

"_That's a little old." She pointed out._

_Morgan shook his head. "He started high school when he was ten, college at thirteen."_

"_And he shows some mild Autistic tendencies." Rossi nodded. "Figure in some delayed psycho-social development and you could still be in that window. It could fit. We profiled that this guy is taking college kids, putting them in a situation where they have to act out his fantasies for him. He gets off on the power, the control, making them perform in ways ever more outside of the norm. But eventually they flat out refuse to go any further. So he drugs them, hauls them out to a dumpster, and then poisons them so they die there, out with the trash, which is how he sees them at that point, failures, trash. You're theorizing that he's kept Reid and Calista so long because they haven't said no yet. They've pair-bonded, fallen in love, and are acting out what they've subconsciously wanted all this time, possibly including having someone else in charge."_

"_You think he hasn't gotten rid of them because they're submitting to him." Morgan summarized._

* * *

><p>"What, Reid? Want to be a part of that life? No." Emily laughed.<p>

"Are you absolutely certain about that?" Morgan asked her.

She was about to answer yes, of course, when she stopped to think about it.

And…

Well…

He was never an Alpha male, not in the slightest. Never took the lead when it came to women, not at all. Was far happier when the people in authority over him were comfortable and confident with what they were doing and when he did have someone in authority. And when you really thought about it….

Morgan nodded. "Exactly," he said, sounding very unhappy about it.

"But there's no way he could stay a part of that and remain with the FBI." Emily insisted. He couldn't disappear into that world, he just couldn't.

"Yes there is." Rossi said, very quietly.

They both looked at him. "How?" Emily demanded.

Rossi just held up a hand. "Just trust me on that one. Call it a back-up plan."

All of a sudden something else occurred to Emily. "Speaking of control, you're the one running this right now, aren't you?"

Rossi looked over and slowly nodded. "He needed help when he got out of there. If we had taken him back to his apartment and left him to deal with it on his own…"

"Like Gideon did," Morgan interrupted.

"… he would have ended up severely depressed and going out to get another fix, either from a dealer or with some guy he picked up in the wrong kind of bar. Imala was already going to have to treat Cali, so I worked out a deal for her to look after Reid as well."

"How much is it costing you?' Emily asked.

Morgan looked over. "You never did say how much." He said to Rossi.

"Oh well there would have to be some cost." Emily replied. "If nothing else they have expenses. And as a customer everything they do to Reid would have to be approved, preferably in advance."

"Right now we need to focus on whether or not this kind of thing is something he might actually need or if it was just something the Unsub brainwashed him into believing."

"Oh, I can see how that could be possible." Emily nodded. He'd been in that situation a long time. It was so easy to lose yourself sometimes…

Morgan reached into the case file box, pulled out an evidence bag and handed it to Emily. "We cut that off him at the hospital."

Emily turned the bag over in her hand. In it was a length of heavy, silver chain and a plain, shiny, round silver lock. "Is this a…?" She didn't want to believe it.

But Rossi was nodding, "A collar. It's the style they use for people still in training, who aren't working under a specific contract. There's another style for people who have an Owner, another for people who are working for a House. In addition each House or Owner will put their own distinct engraving on the lock. Cali Nash was wearing one specific to Rothmere, as her family has served there she's considered part of that House until her contract was sold, but the shape denotes junior status. We contacted the jeweler who makes those for the organization; Michael Howard ordered two of them, plain."

"He would have put the other on Cali except she was already wearing one." It was disturbing is what it was. "So did Reid put this on to pacify the Unsub, or because he was submitting to him? Or did the one lead to the other?"

"That is what we have to find out."

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

The house they were going to was set back behind a high wall and a solid gate in a quiet part of Georgetown. Morgan already had the code for the gate. "I didn't realize he was still in the city." Emily said, looking about curiously.

"We got lucky with that one. There's a house in Virginia but it only works with new recruits. I wouldn't have been comfortable stashing a FBI agent there." Morgan pulled up to a parking area just passed the perfectly manicured front garden and stopped.

"Yeah I could see the potential for future problems with that one." With his luck Reid would end up sharing space with someone who dropped out, only to end up interviewing him in the future. "My Mother would love this house."

"No kidding." After a moment the bell was answered by a woman in a maid's uniform. And not the sexy, kinky kind either. No, this was a severe black in a modest style with white collar and white cuffs above the elbows, and a snowy white half apron. She wore her hair back in a bun and just a touch of make-up, and if it wasn't for the silver chain locked around her neck Emily never would have guessed. "Um, Agents Morgan and Prentiss here to see Dr. Reid," Morgan said to her, clearly a little uncomfortable with the formality."

"Of course, Sir, I'll fetch him at once." The maid curtseyed, actually curtseyed, and turned to go.

"No need, Livia. Dr. Reid is available. I'll show our guests, return to your duties." With another curtsey the maid turned and silently disappeared. Emily followed the voice to the man coming down the stairs. A bit on the short side, solid, thick, dark curls, glasses, a hint of a beard, a very well tailored suit, and an air of carefully controlled confidence.

_Familiar_ carefully controlled confidence.

"Chris, may I introduce my partner, SSA Emily Prentiss. Prentiss, this is Mr. Chris Parker." Morgan caught up at last.

"Agent Prentiss," Chris took her hand in the European manner, right down to the slight bow. "I must admit, the face is familiar although the name is not. Um…have you ever been to Mykonos?"

No. It couldn't be. "Yes. I attended a week-end party there hosted by a woman named Ninon." Oh Morgan was not going to let her live this one down. "I was using the name Lauren Reynolds then."

"And you were the guest of a man named Ian Doyle. That's right. I, ah, do hope you were not there in a professional capacity."

"Yes, I was."

"Oh dear, as I recall Mr. Doyle was under consideration as a potential Owner. Perhaps we should be grateful that he did not pass. How is he these days?"

"Dead, shot by a former lover turned competitor."

"Ah. Unfortunate." Chris offered her his arm, which she accepted, and lead them further into the house. "What happened to his lover?" He asked; all casual conversation and perhaps mild flirt.

"Also dead, Doyle was standing with some FBI agents at the time he was shot, they fired back in response. Dr. Reid's shot actually killed her."

"Ah. Speaking of, he's in the library. Um, I've been meaning to ask." He paused for a moment in one of the hallways, for the first moment there was a slight crack in his perfect composure. "Does he really read that fast?"

Emily and Morgan looked at each other and answered in unison, "Yes."

Chris chuckled. "Now I envy him. I've been working on my PhD for a good six years now, if I could read that fast…"

"...you'd have four like he does." They resumed walking. "You know, back then Doyle said that if I wanted to spend a few weeks at Ninon's house it could be arranged. He said I would learn things I could not imagine."

"Ninon trains pleasure slaves." He stopped at a set of pocket doors and slid them open. "You would have."

"Did she teach you how to flirt?"

Parker chuckled. "Yes."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Emily**

The first thing Emily noticed, given the discussion she'd had with Rossi the night before, was the room. It was lined floor to ceiling and wall to wall with books. Books, binders, reports, what looked to be tons of data all neatly filed and cataloged in an actual card catalog directly in front of her. Behind that was a low set of bookshelves, back to back, running straight down the room and serving as a counter. At the far end looked to be a dictionary on a stand on what might be a map case.

They were going to have to pry Reid out of here with a crowbar.

Speaking of Reid he was perched on the library stepladder, inhaling a report, running those long fingers down the page as he just poured the data in one end of his brain and juggled it in the other. It was a healthy sign; whatever he had been through had clearly not impaired his mental abilities. It had also done nothing for his fashion sense; he was perched there in worn cords, an old work shirt fraying around the collar and cuffs and his usual Chucks and glasses. In short, he looked like he ought, only minus the tie.

When he turned, looked up and grinned she could see why he skipped the tie. Bruises tend to look worse even as they heal. At anywhere from one to three weeks old his looked horrifying, thick and dark and mottled around his wrists and collarbone. How that must have hurt and yet…

"Hey, Emily!"

And there he was giving her a big hug once again. Oh, he had been missing for so long and they hadn't had a clue and then he was so hurt in the hospital and then they just whisked him away…. She pulled him into that hug tight, "Hey handsome." He was alive and all right and they just had to be able to put him together again, they had to. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. Well, better." He finally let go. "Itchy." He admitted. "I think it's everything healing."

"Well don't scratch," Chris Parker spoke up.

"Yes, Sir," Spencer turned back to Emily without missing a beat. "So how is everyone?"

Yes, Sir. It was the casual, natural way he said it that twisted in her gut. "Fine, missing you; I think if Garcia can't lay eyes on you soon she might destroy a small country. And JJ's nearly as bad, just quiet about it. We should get Rossi to throw one of his dinners soon, get everyone together."

"That would be great! If it's, um, all right," he looked over at Parker again.

"I don't see why not." The other man said.

That reply left Spencer smiling like a puppy with a kind word from his… She couldn't do this any longer. "Good, so while I'd love to stay and visit I'm here to work. I'm supposed to be doing a cognitive with Calista Nash."

"Ah yes," Parker spoke up. "She's in with Anderson; I'll let them know you're here." He quietly stepped back out of the room and shut the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut Emily turned back to Spencer. "You know, you don't have to ask his permission to go out with your friends." She pointed out. "You're not…whatever these people are." She could not say 'a slave', she just couldn't.

"I know."

"Then why were you?"

For a moment Spencer looked honestly deeply confused. "Was I?"

"Yes." Emily sighed and traded looks with Morgan. "So what have you been doing around here?"

"Lots of therapy," clearly he was fishing around for the memory. "They have a gym out back and the cook is amazing. And their doctor makes house calls."

"Is that all?"

"I've been working on my thesis, of course, but then I found this library. You guys have to get in on this. Look," he pulled out one binder. "One hundred and seventy-five pages on how to analyze behavior based on the way someone manipulates a coffee cup."

Morgan came over and took the binder to have a look, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm wondering if such detailed analysis can be applied to the post-conviction interview process, or even with a potential suspect. You know, bring them a cup of coffee in the interview room and see how they react. And what's more, while we might be able to do this subconsciously, having this information already detailed out turns it into teachable materials."

Emily looked up at Morgan and exchanged a quick smile. Now that was the Reid they knew and loved. She pulled down the next binder. It was a thick report on the meaning behind how people manipulated their silverware. Damn.

"You know, I hate to admit to having an inner geek." Morgan said. "But Rossi has a point, this is impressive."'

"I know." Emily was already starting to lose her focus. The potential here was huge.

"Well you're more than welcome to stay and go through the material." Parker said from the door. He smiled just a little more. "It's rather refreshing to not be the only geek in the house." He turned to her specifically. "Cali will be available in a moment; you can use my office."

"Great, thank you." She followed him into the hallway. As soon as the door closed she asked. "How is he doing?"

"Improving, Dr. Mueller has been monitoring his injuries; she said they're all healing cleanly. And the weight is starting to come back. He's been showing steadily increasing stamina in the gym."

"What about psychologically?"

"Good question. Dr. Kaufmann says that is the most interesting mind he's ever come across, which is making understanding it uniquely difficult." He opened a door a little ways down the hall. Unlike the rest of the house, all dark woods and Arts and Crafts design his office was light pine, a clean, modern space with an almost Oriental feel.

"That's not what I'm asking."

Parker sighed. "Has this experience brought out innate submissive and or masochistic tendencies that are now going to have to be dealt with moving forward? Or are any indications merely a temporary state brought about by the situation? Or is it perhaps a reaction to a lifetime of on and off abuse?" He showed her to a small sitting area off to one side, two comfortable chairs, a small table, perfect spot for an interview. "We honestly don't know yet."

She hadn't thought of that third option. "Why do you think this is the best place for him to recover?"

"Because we're willing to use that temporary state to our advantage, to prevent long-term damage. If his body can't produce ample endorphins naturally he's at a high risk for returning to either drug use or risky behavior to stimulate production. Right now that means resting that system and allowing it to heal naturally which means twenty-four hour supervision and support, which we have available."

"And a more traditional facility doesn't offer that?"

"In a traditional facility, even if they understood the nature of the problem, he'd be at risk of predation from fellow patients or even from the staff. And no actual therapist would be willing or able to use that temporary state to his advantage."

Emily made some almost chuckle of a sound. "So, what, you took control and told him if he got off you'd spank him?"

"No." Even the blatant crudeness of that statement didn't rock Parker. "He's spent the better part of this past month learning to eroticize pain. I told him I'd take his books and his girlfriend away."

And he was completely serious. "Oh, I wish I hadn't asked that." Emily just shook her head. But then she looked at this man in front of her. Something about the set of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head… "How are you holding up?'

"I beg your pardon?"

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. That speaks to a certain amount of guilt."

He considered for a long moment. "Michael Howard," he finally admitted. "We should have done more to stop him. I don't know what, but…more."

Ahhh, of course, his accusations had lead to the trigger, and he had been in on the evaluation process. "You couldn't have known." She reminded him.

"Given the work we do here I'm afraid I have to disagree." He smiled, just a little, just a little regret. "But now we can only try to repair the damage we allowed to happen." There was a tap on the door behind him. "That will be Cali."

Calista Nash turned out to be taller than expected. She stood almost head and shoulders over Parker, was just the right height for a certain overly-tall doctor to kiss without bending too much. She was willowy, lightly curved, in a vintage style floral dress right out of the 1940's that bared her arms and landed just above her knee. She had dark blond hair that fell in waves just past her shoulders, a snubbed nose, pointed chin, and that pink-white skin that they called English Rose where it wasn't covered with the same thick bruises as Spencer's. But it was her eyes that were her best feature. Pretty, sure, but she looked like she was about to start a refined sort of giggling at any moment. Happy, full of life…no, merry, that's what it was. And then she smiled a crooked sort of smile and you just had to smile along with her, "A pleasure to meet you Agent Prentiss." Add in a refined British accent and what she'd learned about her from her profile and yes, Emily would easily peg this girl for Reid. She'd keep him happy.

And yet there was something. Something in the way she responded to Parker, something in her curtsey or the brief nod of her head, something that just felt a quarter beat off. Something just didn't quite…fit. But she couldn't put her finger on it. Wanted to say 'No, call me Emily', that would have felt right, but she'd been briefed on the formal manners here. So instead it was "Thank you for meeting with me Miss Nash. Did Doctor Reid have a chance to explain what a cognitive interview is?"

"The cognitive interview is a method of interviewing victims and witnesses that minimizes misinterpretation and maximizes retrieval of memory. Using four specific interviewing techniques the interview can increase memory retrieval by up to 45% without generating inaccuracies." Cali's crooked smile grew a little wider and she sounded about to giggle. "Yes, he did."

"Yeah, it sounds like it." Emily couldn't help it, she was laughing. "Okay, let's get started."

In the first hour they covered the same ground as Morgan and Spencer had. She'd been walking out to meet Mr. Parker at the appropriate time and place, and was jumped from behind, a nasty smell, waking up in the cell, the forms, recognizing them as the ones from their organization. "You said you weren't…rated for sexual service. " Emily said, after checking for the correct term. "How did you recognize the forms?"

"Some of my mates are rated for that sort of thing. They were sent over here for training. I peeked over their shoulders while they were filling them out."

"So what happened after you signed the contracts?"

* * *

><p><em>The intercom crackled to life. "The male will put this on." The pass drawer slid open.<em>

_Spencer leaned over to look. Inside the drawer was a length of heavy, silver chain and a plain, shiny, round sliver lock. He pulled it out and showed it to Cali, who looked it over without touching. "I don't understand." She said finally. "It's a training lock, surely, but there are no markings on it for any house or trainer. That doesn't make any sense."_

"_The male will put this on." The Unsub repeated._

"_What are you going to do?" She asked._

"_The male will put this on!" The Unsub was already getting angry, it was easy to tell._

"_Pacify the Unsub." He said quietly. The metal was cool around his neck, a fit just tight enough to be noticeable, to not be able to go over his head. The lock made the whole thing heavy. He took a deep breath and snapped it shut; a very final sound. "How do you get used to this?" It wasn't tight enough to choke but it was making him aware of every swallow."_

"_I've worn one for eight years now. It's more a comfort than anything most of the time, reminds you of your place in the world."_

"_I can see how that would provide a sense of security."_

_The intercom crackled again. "Remove your clothing and place it in the drawer."_

_Oh hell._

_Cali looked up at the intercom speaker. "Oh you knew that was coming. Still going to pacify the Unsub?"_

"_Remove your clothing and place it in the drawer."_

"_Yes." He turned to face the door, his back to her, and got started. His Chucks, her Mary Janes, her denim jacket, his blazer, his socks, one purple with a yellow toe and heel, the other the same purple but with white polka dots, her hand appeared and handed him a pair of hand knit socks in a pale yellow. "We have blankets, we can wrap up or something."_

_He heard her pause a moment. "I think we know what's coming next Spencer."_

"_I'm trying not to think about that." Tie, shirt, roll about to get out of the pants. Wait…"I didn't mean it that way. It's just…."_

"_Not the best situation." She passed him a flowery, soft cloud that turned out to be her dress. "If it's any help you are rather cute you know. You probably would have talked me into it, if you wanted to."_

"_Really?" Spencer could feel his ears burning. "I do want to. Well, did want to. No, do want to." He did. She was kind of wonderful, he could already tell. _

"_Did? Do?" Cali passed him her bra, soft and pink and still warm from her body. _

_It took him a moment to put that in there. All of a sudden this was very real. "Not like this." No help for it. He peeled out of his boxers, put them in the drawer, and then accepted a bit of warm white cotton he didn't want to think about and placed that in there as well. He pulled the nearest blanket around his lap, then over his shoulders and finally dared to peek. Good, she was wrapped in a blanket herself, had it tucked tightly up under her arms. He sat back against the wall to watch the fire as the Unsub pulled the drawer to the other side. "I would have at least bought you dinner first." He told her, "Someplace nice." Bravado in the face of fear, he thought, a show of courage perhaps._

_She made a nervous sort of sound. "That would have been lovely; maybe a movie after."_

"_Nooo," not a movie, too commonplace. "A play, maybe the symphony; do you like opera?"_

"_I do. I went when I could when I was in University."_

"_There we go." Yes, he would have taken her to the opera and a very nice dinner first. That was appropriate for a seduction._

"_And then back to your flat?" She asked. "Given that I share a dorm room with three other people."_

_They shared a shy sort of smile. "I'm not home enough to keep it up. Maybe…a bed and breakfast with a big bed ,a four poster."_

"_And a fire, oh, well, we have a fire." She pointed out. "Of course this would not have been our first date."_

"_No, not at all, we would have gone out hopefully a number of times; coffee first, then lunch, maybe a picnic on the mall."_

"_There're lots of things in DC I haven't seen yet." She told him._

"_There's a start. Move on to dinners, movies, maybe some lectures."_

"_Sounds marvelous," her smile was the brightest thing he had ever seen. "Do you follow…football?"_

"_American or British?" he asked her. "Actually no, to both, do you?"_

"_No, but I do keep an eye on the cricket scores."_

"_I admit I've never been able to understand cricket."_

_Cali looked at him with a grin. "Yank."_

_Spencer nodded, "Very much so."_

_They were quiet a moment. Then she looked over. "I suppose at some point you would have kissed me good-night."_

"_Mmm, probably, it might have taken me a bit, but, yeah." They knew what was coming. They knew what the Unsub was going to ask them to do to stay alive. But really, it wasn't that hard to lean over and kiss her. Her lips were soft and sweet and tasted like honey and he remembered what Lila did and licked and she opened and then he was drowning again._

_The intercom crackled over their heads…_

* * *

><p>"And then what happened?" Emily asked her.<p>

Cali stared off into the memory, but at that question she blinked and blushed and turned back to the present, "Kind of a lot."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Emily**

After the interview Parker came back and sent Cali off to assist Vicente with supper. "If you don't mind Anderson would like to speak with you." He said to Emily.

Emily found herself being escorted into the Molesworth office where the older woman was waiting with Morgan, with the utter calm that all of these people seemed to possess. But under that calm was an icy fury. "Chris here just told me that in the space of ten years we've had two criminals make it in to our organization, is this true?" Anderson asked as she gestured for Emily to take a chair.

"It appears it might be."

The discussion lasted quite some time.

* * *

><p>"Either his short-term memory is still shot or he's giving automatic, subconscious reactions to people with that sort of command presence." Emily said as they got in the car.<p>

"Or both," Morgan pointed out. "Either way, he's not ready to go back to work and he shouldn't be wandering the streets like that. And none of us can stay home with him 24/7. Did you get any further with her?"

"Not much. He put that thing on to pacify the Unsub. At least we have that much." She sighed as they backed down the driveway. "I just hope he comes all the way back."

"So do I."

**Georgetown playground  
>Washington DC<strong>

It wasn't their usual park, but it did have a place for Henry to burn off steam. Both JJ and Garcia were probably curious about why they were meeting there, but that was trumped by the greater concern on everyone's mind. "Have you heard anything from Reid?" Garcia asked as she sat down at the picnic table they had commandeered.

It was two weeks since they found him, just over five since he went missing. "I saw him three days ago, he's doing….better." Emily told them

"Okay, we're not at the office; you are finally going to tell us what the hell's going on." JJ demanded.

The trick with telling a good lie to people who are trained to spot lies is to all agree on your story, to lie as little as possible, and to let their own minds do the work for you. Emily looked at both of them, "Morgan and Rossi wanted to make sure we didn't make the same mistake we did last time." She said, "After...Hankel."

JJ gasped and groaned and buried her face in her hands. Garcia looked at both of them, very confused. "What happened after Hankel?"

"Nothing," Emily told her. "That was the problem, Gideon kept saying everything was fine, we shouldn't worry, and we thought that meant that he was getting Reid help."

"But he wasn't." JJ looked over at Garcia. "I didn't find out until after Emily came back that Gideon never offered Reid any help, which meant none of us did. And he was so upset about that. I'm proud of him for doing it himself, but he shouldn't have had to." She looked to Emily. "So he's been in rehab?" She dropped her voice automatically, even though no one could overhear.

Emily nodded a confirmation, "Very, very discrete, to protect his badge," which it was, more or less.

"Is he clean?"

"Oh yeah, they took him through a complete withdrawal. He's off everything."

"Well that's good."

"So why isn't he back yet?" Garcia asked.

"Between that and then watching it happen to this girl he was falling for and then dealing with the Unsub it really messed with his head." Emily told them. "He's more clued into reality than he was, but it's not a hundred percent yet."

"But he is getting better?"

Emily's attention was caught by two figures moving toward them over the grass. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

The two other women looked over and then Morgan had to duck out of the way before he was run over on their way to hugs.

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

Spencer walked Morgan to the door just as the house SUV was pulling in to the drive. From here he could see it loaded with boxes.

The few hours at the park had been a wonderful time, he hadn't realized he'd missed everyone that much. Or that he'd missed cases, work, thinking about the intricacies of the human mind. Just going through the library here was fun, no doubt about it, but it rather lacked a purpose. He missed having a purpose.

Also, he was exhausted. All the talking, the screaming kids at the playground, the movement, he had always cherished quiet, now he was flat out used to it. He was just glad he hadn't started a headache.

And there was another thing, the thing that, despite his exhaustion, led him to the SUV to start with the unloading. "How was it?" He asked the girl sliding out of the passenger seat.

"Exhausting," Cali said as they met Parker at the back to start the unloading. "There were so many people! And they were all moving! And talking! I don't know how I ever managed it before!"

"I was at a park, with kids." He told her as they started bringing in the boxes. "I don't know if that would be better than a grocery warehouse or not."

"How's your godson?"

"Bigger, I think."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until they were alone, after lights out that the truth came out. "I missed you." She said.<p>

He rolled over on his side to look at her. Lying on her stomach, her white nightgown almost glowing gently in the soft light of the nightlight, through the slight haze of the screen, she looked like an angel just landed, just for him. "Did you?"

"I did." A slow smile spread across her face. "And it was delicious."

It was, he thought. After near to two weeks of feeling more or less numb to everything, to feel something that delicate and real had been, well, a delicious thing. "The only problem is that in order to feel that again we'd have to spend more time apart."

"I know."

"It might be worth it to try, though. As long as we weren't too far away, at least at first…"

"Well, you know what we could do…"

* * *

><p>"Are you two sure?" Chris Parker asked them.<p>

"No." Spencer admitted. He looked over to Cali, who also looked a little uncertain. "But we want to give it a try."

"All right then. Cali, Dr. Kaufman doesn't want you in the client hall just yet and Dr. Reid, you're a little more problematic since you're neither guest nor trainer nor client at the moment. So we're putting you each in a junior trainer room. Second floor, hall to the left, third door on the right. Cali, you're down the hall to the right, first room on the right."

As far as bedrooms go it wasn't bad. Not the green room where they had spent the first few days, one of the more luxurious rooms meant for special guests. No, this was much more Spartan. No TV, of course, and no wall art, but bedding, a small dresser, a bookshelf, and a decent sized desk. Also Wi-Fi and Garcia had loaned him a laptop.

That's what it reminded him of, a dorm room. Specifically the one he'd used as a grad student at CalTech.

Yes, he could be very comfortable here.

He'd finish putting things away later; right now he wanted to see if Cali was getting settled all right. He was rather glad that they had decided not to send her back to the 'client hall', it had no doors, and neither did their bath, and it was co-ed. He didn't think he could handle knowing she was in a situation like that. But her room was a dorm room much the same as his. "Are you all right?" He asked after tapping on the door frame."

"I am." She said with a pleased smile. "I didn't expect to get my own room until I found a position as a housekeeper."

"Maybe they anticipate your success."

"I hope so." She looked over at him as she fluffed the bedding. "I'm going to miss you, you know." She said with the merriest smile.

"Yes, but think of how we'll look forward to breakfast."

* * *

><p>Being able to take on separate rooms meant they were ready to start going back to 'work', in a sense. Cali was given the large yet specific task of cleaning and organizing the attic. She had to organize the project according to certain guidelines, be able to guide Livia and another two clients who were coming in, sort any remodeling or construction that would have to be done to optimize the space, make a list of any containers required, the list of things to do went on and on. It seemed daunting to Spencer but she insisted it wasn't that bad. "It's all in how you break it down." She said. "I can see why they gave me this task first though."<p>

"Oh?"

"It's out of the way of the daily workings of the house. If I have trouble with it it's not a crisis."

"Oh, well that makes sense."

Anderson tasked Spencer with something closer to his regular duties. "We need to find a way to liaison with law enforcement, what with all the new money coming in and these West Coast houses being pains in the ass about paying attention. I want you to figure out how we can work with the FBI and Interpol while preserving the anonymity of our members. We have a junior coming in from Germany, Kurt; he used to work for Interpol. I want you to take point but he'll be coming in to help when he's not working on other skills. Chris will be supervising you both."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"In addition, tomorrow we're off the treadmill and going for a real run." Chris Parker added. "And if you two are ready to work I expect you both to be dressed for it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

That night was the longest on record. Spencer tossed and turned, too used to a warm body, the sound of breathing in the room. He was so very tempted to go crawl into her bed. But he didn't. He'd been told not to, and he wanted….wanted…what did he want?

Eventually he did manage to get something resembling sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning he and Chris set out on a run around the neighborhood. "Why running?" Spencer asked at some point.<p>

"Doesn't the FBI require it?"

"I have a waiver."

"Well, by the time we're done you won't need it."

* * *

><p>After his shower he dressed for work, as expected, shirt, slacks, tie, sweater vest, a real, wet shave. Chris met up with him in on the stairs. "Is that what you usually wear to work?" Chris was in a suit, of course.<p>

Spencer looked down. "I wore something like this the last time I testified before the Senate." He told the other man.

"Oh. Well, all right then."

Cali was back in uniform. Left on her own she tended toward dresses and her hair loose. For work she was wearing black pants with sensible oxfords, an ivory tunic with a high neckline that almost hid her collar and a kind of a skirt that skimmed her thighs, and a crisp, white apron, with her hair up in some kind of knot. He had missed her last night, and seeing her made the whole day bright, like someone had just turned the light on when she smiled. Delicious. "Good morning."

"Good morning love."

Chris stopped at the door. "Well, this is problematic."

Cali looked from him to Spencer, instantly spotting the problem. "Ah, yes."

Spencer frowned. "What is?"

"Up 'till now you've both been on the sick list, more or less, and so been eating in the kitchen." Chris said. "But now you're not. A visiting University Professor would be a respected guest, and expected to join the family in the dining room. But given your relationship it would be incorrect for Cali to serve you there, and until we have a full complement of clients in the house that will be part of her duties."

Well, that was a problem, now, wasn't it. Fortunately he rather thought it would be simple to solve. "Given that you have at least one actual junior trainer coming in I would expect that mealtime discussions would revolve around certain business topics that might not be appropriate for someone with my, um, day job." That might be a good way of putting it. "Rather than hampering the free flow of important information it might be better if I ate in the kitchen."

Chris nodded, "Excellent point. You're not offended then?"

"No, not at all."

"In that case, Cali, let's see if you remember how to serve at table." Chris headed into the other room to wait.

Once he left Vicente turned to Spencer. "That being the case you missed breakfast. You want something?"

"Please." Spencer helped himself to coffee and settled at the table to wait his turn. Not offended, not hardly. In fact he'd never felt more at home in his life.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

Comfortable was the best way to describe the better part of the next two weeks.

During the day Spencer spent much of his time working on that project for Anderson. Yes, he still had therapy appointments, but they weren't every day anymore; same with the acupuncture, the medical checks, and all the rest of it. No, most of the time he worked on that project. It was useful on a number of levels, for Anderson since a successful program would reflect on her house, for the organization as a whole since it would help weed out potential threats to both the group and the clients, and for law enforcement since it had the potential to give them another point of observation or even access into a criminal organization and since it gave them access to so much information on human behavior. But the problem was a thorny one, how to maintain open communication when both sides valued their anonymity.

It was a discussion they had often on those early morning runs around Georgetown. Until now he hadn't realized how easy it was to talk to Chris Parker. They had done interviews, mostly running in circles that went nowhere, and had that odd relationship that was neither client, nor trainer, nor patient, nor therapist but somehow all of the above, but they hadn't had a chance to really talk. It turned out that Chris was on the edge of getting his PhD in psychology, but more than that, had been profiling without realizing it for the past twenty years or more. Not from precisely the same point-of-view as the BAU, but the understanding was still there. It made for some fascinating discussions.

"Take Doyle for example." Spencer huffed as they ran in the early morning light, "Which we can because he's dead."

"You think Emily would have done better if she had gone in as his slave instead of his girlfriend?" Morgan asked him.

The day before Chris had told him he would be going out of town, and that someone else would be his workout partner for a few days. On the one hand Spencer was glad it was Morgan because he was still in relatively bad shape and Morgan wouldn't say anything. On the other hand Morgan had been trying to get him to do this for years and was unlikely to give an inch. "It wouldn't have taken as long to establish trust."

"On the other hand, I'd bet a lot of men would open up to their girlfriend in ways they wouldn't with a slave." Morgan replied.

"And there is another issue." Chris and Morgan weren't having any issues with keeping up with each other, or course. "Once word gets out that a slave was actually an undercover member of law enforcement they're going to have trouble trusting any of the merchandise ever again. How to we prove to them that it's not going to happen to them?"

"Oh great, another variable," Spencer grumbled. They both chuckled at him.

A block or so later Morgan looked over at Chris, was clearly reading his body language. "Do you fight?'

"Excuse me?"

"Martial arts, you move like you've studied something."

Chris shook his head. "Good old-fashioned boxing for about, oh, ten years now; you?"

"Judo, I teach over at the Academy."

Chris looked over with a gleam in his eye. "Is this a challenge?"

"Maybe."

Spencer decided the variables in his head were more interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>Cali<strong>

The truth was she rather enjoyed digging through musty old attics.

This one stored what had to be the entire detritus of the Anderson family, going back a hundred years or more. It was like a microcosm of American history, she had already found souvenirs from an atomic bomb test, a liberty bond drive, and the Chicago World's Fair. It was amazing what was in here. Some of this was even museum quality. Cali made a note to ask Anderson if she wanted to donate any of it, and to do the research on where it could be donated. Spencer would probably have some ideas; he had friends in the local academic community. They were usually connected to museums in some way.

She opened the next trunk and gasped.

It must have been a wedding dress, not Anderson's mother's, not her grandmother's, maybe great-grandmother's. It clearly dated from the Edwardian era, made of a heavy, ivory satin. The deep neckline would ride just on the point of the shoulder, was trimmed with lace to make something that was almost a short sleeve. It had some pearls and embroidery on the front, and when she lifted it oh, so carefully it had a substantial train. There was an old mirror in the corner, and she simply had to hold it up…

"It would fit you," said a voice behind her.

She turned and saw Mr. Parker standing in the doorway to the attic. "Doubtful, without a corset, granted it is boned on the inside." She turned to look again. "You could put a bit of satin or lace in the back to let it out without compromising the design integrity."

"I'd wear your hair down." He said. "Wreath of roses, ribbons. Keep it from being too pretentious."

She laughed lightly. "I'm never going to wear it." With a careful shake she settled it back into its trunk. "I'll ask Anderson what she'd like to do with it. It's fit for a museum, or perhaps she has a relative somewhere who would appreciate it."

"I don't believe she does, but it would be best to ask." Chris agreed. He looked around the space. "Well done so far." He commented, before turning to head downstairs.

"Mr. Parker?"

"Yes?" He stopped, turned back.

"I know we're not supposed to know, but…do you think my costs would be paid back with a five year contract instead of a ten?"

He leaned against the wall, thought a moment, "Barely. You wouldn't have much left after." He looked into his coffee. "Thinking of getting out?'

"No." She shook her head, chuckled a little. How silly was that? "No, of course not, I love my life."

"Do you?"

"Of course," her eyes kept being drawn back to that dress. She wondered about the woman who wore it. Was she truly in love? Looking forward to her future? What it would be like to look down a church and see someone who cherished you just like that. "I've wanted this since I was a child. Besides, there's no place for someone like me in the mundane world, I know that. This is the only place you can find people who truly appreciate precision, quality, proper behavior. You're laughed at for that in the mundane world anymore. It only makes sense to want to serve in a system where you're appreciated."

"Not everyone will appreciate you like that, you know."

She smiled gently and tried to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that wanted her to look at that dress. "I have no doubt that Mr. Dalton will find a good place for me. And besides, it's better to be a cherished possession than an object of ridicule." But what if you were more than that?

"What about Dr. Reid?"

"He said he would wait." She firmly closed the trunk and made her notes about it. "Once my contract is up and my fees are paid back then we'll be together."

"And you don't mind being a cherished object in the meantime?"

"No." She looked up, honestly confused. "Why should I?"

"Just asking; be down to manage service in thirty."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

><p><strong>Spencer<strong>

What impressed Spencer the most was how little angst and stress was involved in Chris leaving.

They had two new clients, as they called them, coming in. Kerry came up from a Training House near Atlanta to work on anticipation skills with Anderson, and Peter came from an Owner in Vancouver to improve his skills as a butler under Chris. This, in addition to Livia, who was finishing with Anderson and Cali with Chris and Kurt, a Junior Trainer from a House in Germany, there to study under Anderson, observe the healing process, help Spencer with his project, and work on his English skills. It seemed like a houseful. "No, not at all," Vicente told him one day over coffee. "We could take another one – two trainers in here easy, and another two-four clients. But Anderson doesn't like her house that busy."

Cali made the travel arrangements and oversaw the packing. They sorted scheduling and tasks and expectations, and did it all in a way that impressed Spencer, even though he was used to travel as a way of life. And it was all done calmly and without hurry and was still done in one day.

While Chris was gone Cali was actually going to be bringing Peter up to speed on the basics, which he was expected to understand thoroughly or else both of them would be punished. It had already happened once, much to everyone's chagrin. She had forgotten to make up the menu and grocery list by the appointed time, or perhaps she simply had lost track of time, either way when it was time to go the paperwork was not done. Spencer had been more than a little concerned. He didn't know what would happen, what this would entail, what the ramifications would be, but in the end it turned out to be more emotional than anything. Chris neatly stepped to the staff sitting room, picked up her basket of knitting and embroidery and placed it in his office until the problem was resolved the next day. Of course, Spencer thought, in her position it would be a privilege to have a hobby so personal. If you don't have time to finish your work you shouldn't have time to work on something fun. But he rather thought that most of the punishment was in her red cheeks, she was probably kicking herself for not getting it done and opening herself to such embarrassment. On the other hand, nothing was actually said, no one added to her humiliation, and at the same time everything was so clear. There were no guessing games about how someone felt, were they going to say something on the plane later, was your job, your entire way of life on the line, no it was simple, logical, direct and done, clear rules, clear expectations and clear boundaries.

It would be nice if life was always like that.

**Dave Rossi's house  
>Potomac, MD<strong>

"Just relax." Spencer told Cali, as soothingly as he could.

"I'm sorry." She replied, taking a deep breath. "This is the first time I've gone out with…normal people in two years, and the first time in the States. What if…" She couldn't even finish. "I just hope they overlook the embarrassing bits." Even for being so very nervous she did not fidget, not once.

"They always do. Given what we all know about each other we kind of have to or else we'd never be able to work together." He considered a moment. "I guess it's like a family like that."

"Are you two coming in or what?" Morgan asked. He'd been the one driving. Of course Rossi's dinner was the night before Chris left.

They were going in.

They rang the bell. Garcia answered. "You have to be Cali." She took one look, grabbed the other woman by the hand, and practically pulled her in. "You are so telling us everything."

Morgan just started laughing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Anderson**

It was late, but her light was still on. He would still be up as well. Neither of them ever slept much anymore.

Anderson was settled at her vanity in her soft, faded dressing gown, looked up as the door to her room opened, after she'd answered the knock. Chris had undressed slightly, his braces looped at his hips, his white, sleeveless undershirt gleaming in the light of her small lamp. Formal dress was a bit of armor for him, and she liked having him without, keeping him a bit off balance. He quietly left a report on her personal desk and stepped to the side of her dressing table so as not to be addressing her back. "You wanted to see me, Trainer."

"I wanted your take on how our wayward children are doing before you go." She nodded to her vanity, "Keep your hands busy while you tell me."

Chris reached passed her, as indicated, taking up her hairbrush. As he did she admired the mark on his shoulder. One of many, true, she could see the flames reaching up his forearms, the stripes branded into his bicep. But her eyes traced the one on his shoulder, an outline in red and green, easily mistaken for a tattoo. A western rose, the kind of thing you might see on a fancy cowboy boot. He knew she wanted to see it, and knew she knew he knew, and would have moved with deliberate care anyway. Once she'd looked back to the mirror, he carefully, patiently, began untangling her iron grey hair. "Healing, their emotions have stabilized within the expected period of time. They're both ready to return to full duty, more or less."

"More or less?" Chris nodded. "Start with Cali then." She would be the easier. "Did this experience break her?"

Chris brushed a few easy strokes before answering, careful to lift the weight of her hair to avoid tugging on her scalp. That was why Dalton had sent her, not to learn the so-called American way of running a house or to learn anything about sex or anticipatory service. No, he sent her here because they were the psychologists of the bunch, and there was something not right about his girl. He couldn't put a finger on it but he knew it was there. It hadn't taken long for them to realize that for all his time with her, knowing her from infancy and then training her for seven years and more he had never once broken her. Breaking was an important part of becoming a slave, shatter through the ego and find the truth of the person underneath, what they were really made of. They came back stronger if you did it right, more resilient, able to endure. Or else they left, but left with the full knowledge of their truth. "No." He said finally. "I know how, now. I could force it, but I'd rather let it develop naturally."

"You think it will? Before or after she goes to the block?" Chris met her eyes in the mirror and she knew. She nodded, "And Dr. Reid?"

"I don't think we can break him." He worked out a knot with infinite care.

"That's not what I was asking."

"Forgive my misunderstanding, Trainer."

"That was deliberate. You have something you want to share." Like he could ever manipulate her. "So share. Why can't we break him?"

"He's been broken already, repeatedly. I think at this point we'd have to kill someone to break him again."

Chris was not given to exaggeration, ever, "Which would mean you expect a full recovery, with no repercussions." She watched his face. "I didn't think so. Why can't he go back? You in love with him?"

Chris gave her that small, patient smile. "No, even if he was not pair bonded to Cali he's very straight and oriented toward monogamy." And she knew full well that he was neither. "Granted he is extremely intelligent, very perceptive and easy to talk to…"

All of a sudden it hit her. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Chris Parker, you have actually found a friend."

He smiled again. "I suppose I have. And while as his…supervisor I can say that he is cleared to at least return to work, if not yet ready for the demands of travel, as his friend I don't want him to go."

First things first, "Return to work. So in your professional judgment he's not submissive."

"No, he is."

"Damn." That was going to make it difficult.

"He is, but not enough to be a slave. I doubt he's even conscious of it yet. He'll be able to manage it in a professional setting, especially once he's made aware of it. Not only does he not eroticize it but he's…too competent, too good for most owners, and he would know that subconsciously and so never be able to give himself over fully to the role."

"Most owners?"

"He would do well in a House. He seems to be thriving under a hierarchical system, one with defined rules and set protocol, in a system where his…ability to learn and synthesize is respected and valued. That's why he's at his most comfortable in his work environment, although he suffers from a lack of clear communication and from the fact that they must occasionally show a lack of respect for his skills in order to temporarily bond with local law enforcement. The problem is in the social setting, he's lost to the nuances there. He would do better in an environment where the rules of social interaction were more clearly defined." He worked patiently a moment. "Given the right course of study he might make an excellent Trainer."

That surprised her, "Really?"

"I believe so. But one that would always want a Senior Trainer over him."

Anderson let him brush while she considered this. "If you could have your way with both of them, what would you do?"

"I'd keep Cali here; have her work as my second until that spot at Rothmere opened. And I would send Spencer to Rothmere straight off as a researcher or librarian or…profiler if you will, bringing our focus on psychology to their system. Working under Mr. Dalton he'd be happy for life." Chris moved to another section of her hair. "Is that not what one wants for friends?"

"You wouldn't keep him here?"

Chris' eyes met hers in the mirror a long, heavy moment. "You don't keep slaves." He said quietly. "Everyone knows that."

"And what would be your second choice for him?"

He brushed and considered. "Remain with the BAU but somehow continue to live in one of our Houses. The best of both worlds; but I don't see how that would be possible." She opened the drawer in front of her and pulled out a slip of paper, showed it to him. "Ah. Well, there is that."

"If need be. For now we send Dr. Reid back with a no-travel restriction until you return. Then we see how he does, and you break Cali if she hasn't by then." Chris kept going in the relaxed silence that followed her decision. She watched him for a while, and then… "So who is it?"

"I'm sorry Trainer; I do not understand the question."

"Who have you fallen in love with this time?" She watched him a moment more. "It's not…."

Chris's smile spoke volumes. "I beg your forgiveness, Trainer."

"He's not into boys."

"Respectfully, Trainer, I must disagree. His reactions to women are problematic at best. The ones he can bond with he does so on an asexual level, an indication of one who has never romantically loved a woman, but has known fondness and connection. This tells me that he has sisters, and probably a single mother, and so he recreates those bonds. Sexually he never commits, probably not to more than one night, possibly not even the entire night. This tells me that he's using sex to fill some other need, most likely to prove his masculinity to others and to attempt to prove to himself that he really is straight. But his interactions with men show emotional bonding on a more intimate level, all subconscious, although it grows more wary when it comes to authority figures, as if he is repelled as well as attracted. No, he reads like someone who was hurt badly, in early puberty before he had a chance to experiment or even consider experimentation, and by an authority figure. The only way to reject both the abuser and the mechanical enjoyment of a first experiment was to also reject the orientation and take on the Dominant role. The role suits him, but the choice of orientation doesn't appear to."

"And you think you're the one to inform him that he's in denial?"

"All things considered, Trainer, probably not. But it is painful to see. And if I could help…"

"Not until you're done with Dr. Reid and Cali. He doesn't need his world rocked right now."

"Yes Trainer."

Chris continued working on Anderson's hair in the silence. Then, once it was brushed to smoothness, he braided it gently and quietly slipped away.


	16. Chapter 16

_Note: Rated M for language and suggestion of abuse._

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

**BAU Headquarters  
>Quantico, VA<strong>

**Rossi**

"Give it a minute." Rossi said.

They were just settling at the conference table, about to settle in to a new case. Hotch looked up at him. "What?"

"Give it a minute. What's the rush?"

"Five dead bodies," Hotch replied. "Why are we waiting?"

"Oh, hey!" Emily said. From her vantage point she could see out into the bullpen. She nodded at a familiar, long legged figure striding in their direction. "Look who's back!"

A moment later and Spencer was striding in the door. "Sorry I'm late." He said, passing Hotch a file as everyone grinned and hugged him and patted him on the back. "There was some kind of an accident on the Metro, it shut down everything on that side of the city."

"That's all right, welcome back." Hotch said, quietly as usual. "Are you cleared to travel?"

Spencer winced, "No, desk duty, at least a week, maybe two."

"We can work around that."

Garcia all but cackled. "Yeah, you're all mine now."

Spencer had the good sense to look scared. But…"Do you still have lollipops?"

"Of course."

Hotch had seen enough to know where he stood, he set Spencer's medical file aside. "Let's get started."

* * *

><p>Before they got on the plane Hotch called Rossi into his office. "I read the official report." He said. "How does the unofficial one look?"<p>

"You mean is the elephant in the room all scrubbed up and shiny?" That is, clean. "Yes, and has been for a good month now."

"But he's still not clear to travel."

"They want to see how he handles the stress of the job before they send him out into an unsupported environment." He held up his hand. "We don't have the training they do. Once they know he can handle it they'll cut him loose entirely."

Hotch looked at him. "You sound unsure."

"They did warn us that he might decide not to come back. That's his decision to make moving forward." Rossi shook his head. "They're right. This sort of thing can be a life changer."

Hotch sighed. "I guess all we can do is wait."

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Kent**

The cab snaked its way through the narrow streets of Georgetown. In a back corner they reached a gated wall. He had the gate code, which just must have looked so impressive. Per the instructions in his letter he drove up to the front, collected his bags from the trunk and rang the bell. It took a moment, but eventually the door was opened by a tall, scrawny man in a sweater vest, tie and glasses no less. "Hi. Can I help you?'

"Took you long enough, I'm Kent Tawse, I'm here to see Anderson." He strode into the hall, noted the polished wood, the ornate stairway, the parlor off to one side and what looked like a dining room beyond it, the hallways running this way and that. God, it was just perfect, just what he expected. And of course another slave appeared; this one a maid in a traditional black uniform who curtsied nicely. Come to think of it the geek at the door didn't bow or anything. "Is she available?"

"I'll see, Sir." The maid said. She'd been standing there poised, ready to obey the slightest command and yet without the slightest hint of expectation, and with that she was off down the hall. And the sweetest Southern accent as well, oh this was going to be so great!

Behind him he could hear the geek paying off the driver. He turned and saw that his bags had been moved out of the way, closer to the stairs. "You can take those to my room." He said to the geek after he closed the door.

The geek in question just stood there, his hands folded, looking quietly confused. "Ummm…"

Now what was up with that? Um? What the hell kind of slave stands there and says um? "Look, I don't know if you understand, I'm the new trainer here."

"Oh." He could see the light bulb coming on over the geeks head. Whoa, this one was dense or something. "Nice to meet you, I'm…"

"…a guest," said a voice from the hall. The geek nodded a polite bow and Kent turned to see the Trainer of trainers coming down the hall. "And just so you know Mr. Tawse, around here junior trainers get their own bags upstairs. Why don't you come down to my office, we'll see how else you can screw up between here and there."

"Yes, Ma'am," Kent swallowed. Anderson, who was the trainer of trainers, the great mystery who never attended the conferences, the events, the auctions, the ranches and resorts where they all tended to gather. Anderson, whose writings were practically cannon, who compared everything from toilet training in the San Francisco leather scene to brainwashing techniques designed by Mossad. Anderson, who, it was rumored, had observed everything from the military to medical and psychological treatment to penal institutions and had standing invitations at all of the above. Anderson, who not only refined slaves and perfected trainers but who was one of the very few who trained those who certified Owners in how to safely and securely keep the valuable property they wished to purchase at the international level. Anderson was arguably one of the top three Trainers in the entire world.

Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

* * *

><p>Later on, after he had been put firmly in his place and then shown his room, introductions were made. There was another junior trainer working there, Kurt, who had come from Walther Kurgen's place in Germany. He had the hard, tight body you'd expect from a house that specialized in former military, a blond buzz cut and piercing blue eyes. He'd be good to knock homework off of, but somehow Kent doubted this one was ever going to relax and have any kind of fun.<p>

Livia, a dark haired, dark eyed slender thing in a maid's uniform was leaving tomorrow, unfortunately. That left three clients; Kerry, the red-haired little bundle he'd met before, she looked like she'd be giggly good fun in bed, Peter, dark hair and green eyes and a smile and manner as friendly as a golden retriever. He'd be hot if I was into guys, Kent thought. And then there was Cali, a willowy blond, an actual housekeeper from Rothmere, the big house outside London. She had that cool, crisp, remote feel of the best of the British system; an ice queen you just knew would crack and melt all over once you took firm control.

Oh yeah this was going to be _good_.

Then there was Vicente, the tall, dark Brazilian in the kitchen. And by then Anderson was frowning at him. "Just to be real clear," she said coldly, "Vicente is not a slave. He's on staff."

"Really?" That was unusual. Anderson could have a whole fleet of slaves if she wanted. Did no one belong here?

"401K and everything," Vicente said with a chuckle before turning back to the stove.

Lastly they came to the library and the geek. "Dr. Reid, this is Kent Tawse, a junior trainer out from Nagle's house in LA." Anderson said by way of introduction.

Kent offered his hand, got an almost frosty bow and a little wave in reply. Earlier, when he had been sitting in Anderson's office, having their intro meeting, he could have sworn from the way she was looking at him that she was combing over his soul inch by inch, looking for any flaws that might be hiding there. This man looked at him the same way, only a lot faster and perhaps with a bit less detail. "And you are?" A slave? A trainer? An owner? Where do you fit here?

"I told you, my guest." Anderson corrected, irritated. "And that's all you need to know about him. You don't need to know where he goes during the day or what he's done in his life or what he's working on for me. Just leave him alone, got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am," thanks for making me look bad in front of everyone, he thought, now no one will respect me at all. I'll have to work on that with the slaves at least, first thing.

"Good, Parker will be back next week. Check with Cali about a room assignment and the house schedule. I'm starting a headache or something, I'm going to bed."

* * *

><p>Cali did indeed show him his assigned room and bathroom. And where to find the linens, how to hook into the house wi-fi, which shelves in the pantry were snacks and which were Vicente's supplies, and just about everything and anything he wanted to know about the way the house was run. She was crisp, efficient, just barely friendly enough to be palpable, frostier than anything. Clearly she must have heard about the last guy to come out from LA. Or she overheard his dressing down earlier, or both.<p>

Granted from the get go her schedule fell apart the very next day. First off, the mysterious Dr. Reid, who had been going from the library to what turned out to be Parker's office and back again most of the evening, who ate in the kitchen with the staff but slept in the trainer's wing, took off just after Vicente came in and got started. "Strauss wants an early meeting." Was all he said, cryptic as the rest of it, but somehow Cali and Vicente knew what that meant. He collected a bagged up breakfast and travel mug from Vicente, and a smile from the Ice Queen that showed exactly how she would melt, into something pert and flat out wicked before he headed out the door. There was some kind of relationship there, between a slave and a guest? Maybe he was some kind of owner after all? But owners didn't have personal relationships with their property. Damn, what a mystery!

Not much time later Anderson came out and collected an ice pack from the freezer. "Kerry, you have your license with you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the little maid stood up from the kitchen table. Kent had been told that he could eat earlier if he was hungry, but Anderson had a formal breakfast with the trainers and handed out assignments at 9am. All staff and clients were expected to be through with breakfast by then. He was in the kitchen as a result, watching them and having coffee.

"Good. Go get it." Anderson said, placing the pack on her jaw. "You're taking me to the dentist."

"Yes, Ma'am," she took off upstairs.

"You want company?" Vicente asked her.

"No, I'll be fine. Cali, you and Peter keep working on the attic, Kurt, you keep working on that other project, Kent, you keep yourself busy. I'll be back later."

Keep busy? What kind of an assignment is keep busy? "What am I supposed to do then?' He asked Kurt over breakfast.

"Keep busy. " The other man answered.

Keep busy. Keep busy. Well, he thought, the first thing I would do back home is familiarize myself with whoever is in the house, starting at the top. So, with that in mind he went and found Cali's file.

They didn't have anything like her back in California.

Seriously, seven generations in service, raised at Rothmere, eight years of training, four of those getting a degree at Cambridge. Her list of skills just went on and on. No notes on her sexual skills though. Someone must have slipped up there, he thought. Well, we can fix that. When Peter came back down with a box of trash he called over. "Tell Cali to join me in the dining room."

"Yes, Sir."

Time to get to work.

It turned out it wasn't a mistake. "Not rated for sexual service?" What the hell was up with that?

"No, Sir." Kent had Cali the Housekeeper, pardon me 'Mrs. Nash', kneeling at his feet in the dining room. She was way too covered up for his tastes, all prim and proper in her cotton tunic and that white apron, her hair all pinned up. With that question her cheeks turned bright rosy red and she looked down and away. Oh my, was she going to be fun to break.

"Why not?"

"In the British Imperial system it is not considered appropriate to have sexual relations with the staff. Any great house would have specially trained experts on hand to meet any needs of that sort. I have a different specialty."

Oh that had him laughing. "Right, someone's gonna own a slave and not fuck them. "

"Yes, Sir," she turned even redder at the obscenity.

"I don't buy it. Every slave is used sooner or later."

"As you say, Sir."

Ok, so that was the standard polite dismissal of an argument. She wasn't getting away with that cold bit of superiority, not while he was in charge. "So let's see how you do, take your hair down, get that shirt off, and get over here and suck my cock."

She actually looked shocked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Get over here and get that mouth to work. Properly." And stop using it to be a snotty little smart ass.

By now her jaw had actually dropped. "No."

It was his turn to be shocked. "What?"

"No."

What. The. Hell. A slave did not say no. Not ever. Not for anything. Kent raised his hand and….


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Morgan**

Morgan knew something was off when he pulled into his usual parking spot just as Vicente was taking out the trash. The older man waved him over, which was entirely new. "Come in this way." He said, leading Morgan through the laundry room door.

Even as he walked in Morgan could tell that there was some kind of trouble going on. The house seemed too cold and too quiet, as if there was an electric tension in there air. The too cold bit was also literal; someone had cranked the AC down hard. "What's going on?" Morgan asked the older man. "I was supposed to try to get Reid to the movies tonight." He had planned a horror movie night with Garcia, maybe see if Cali could go, a way to move them both further along the line to fully reintegrate with society.

"He's not going, I can tell you that much." Vicente said as he turned back to his kitchen, set about making Morgan a mug of coffee.

"Where is he?"

"Out in the garden, Anderson told us all to leave him alone, said she would go out and talk to him later. The way she sounded, I think she means everyone."

Including him, uh boy, "Hold on a moment." He texted Garcia a message, that movie night was off and he would let her know, then turned back to the coffee and conversation. "What happened?"

"Well, you know we got new trainers in, Kurt from Berlin, Kent from LA, he came in yesterday. Chris is out of town still, he's due back next week. This morning Anderson started a toothache, had to go to the dentist. She told everyone what to do and told Kent to keep busy. She wanted to see what he decided to do with himself. He started looking at people's files and doing interviews, starting with Cali. During the interview he told her to start having sex with him."

Morgan stopped, just looked at Vicente. "Just like that? And he expected her to do it?"

"It's the way they do things out there. A slave isn't supposed to say no, they know that. But she did, she told him no, she wouldn't. He slapped her, she still said no. So he figured she's British, he got the cane out."

Okay, this was not happening. "He beat her for saying no?" Not only was that inherently wrong, just _wrong_, they were supposed to be avoiding pain, especially eroticized pain. This could only be a setback.

Vicente seemed utterly calm about this turn of events. "It's the way things are done. It's not the first time she's been caned. But she still said no so he figured she enjoyed it. So he gave her the cold treatment."

"Cold treatment?"

"He turned down the AC and took her clothes away. No heat until she says yes. She followed as meek as you please but something was not right. Then Dr. Reid got home and he found out what was going on. He looked _very_ not right. So I did something I haven't done since I was a boy back in Rio. And I didn't tell anyone, not even Anderson. I waited for you."

"What's that?"

Vicente wiped off his hands, reached over and opened a drawer, "Picked a pocket."

Morgan looked. Inside the drawer, with the tea cozies and towels, was a Smith & Wesson Model 65 Revolver. Morgan took it and made it safe, sticking it in the back of his pants. Things had gone seriously downhill, that much was clear. "All right, then what happened?"

"I don't know. All I know is he gave Cali his jacket then he went into the house. A few minutes later there was a lot of noise upstairs, Kent was yelling, Kurt was yelling. Then Anderson came home and went to see and she just yelled once. Then she sent everyone to different rooms and Dr. Reid out into the garden."

Okay, he was going to need to get more information from someone. "So where is everyone now?"

"Drs. Mueller and Kaufmann came. She took Kent and Kurt to the hospital. He's in with Cali now. Anderson is on the phone in her office. Kerry and Peter are cleaning up upstairs. And Dr. Reid is still in the garden."

"And you leave him there." came a voice from behind him. They turned to see Anderson, an ice pack on her jaw and a phone to her ear. Morgan was reminded of Hotch as his most deeply pissed. No, more. "I do not want any chance of him going over the edge. Leave him be until I have a chance to talk to him, I have to get Kent out of the house first. I am done, William. If Nagel can't teach his boys to keep it in their pants then I am not going to approve them to the international level, he can just confine himself to the local market. No, I don't care how much money he brings in, I won't have him ruining everyone else's hard work." The last of that was said into the phone as she swapped ice packs and headed back to her office.

Everyone who would tell him anything was currently occupied. From a stool at the counter he could just see Reid, sitting out past the kitchen garden. Well you don't hire an expert and then act like you know more, Morgan thought. So he settled with his coffee and waited for more intel to come his way.

It did not take long. About the time he started on his second cup they heard the door open. The first one in was the statuesque blond Dr. Greta Mueller, followed by someone Morgan had yet to meet, with Kurt the German bringing up the rear. The one in the middle had to be the one from LA. He had hair that ought to be brown but was frosted blond at the tips, a build that could have been something if he ever worked out, and probably an eye color, but it was hard to tell past the two black eyes that were already swelling nicely. He had a nose that had been recently set, a cut and swollen lip, and from the way he was moving more than one bruised or even cracked rib. He also had a serious case of entitlement and a bad case of wounded ego. "Where is he?" LA demanded of Vicente. "I don't care whose guest he is, I am turning that little bastard in for assault."

Oh this day just kept getting _better_.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded of Morgan.

"A guest," Anderson said, coming in the room, "And no you don't get to know more. Greta, Emil is still in with Cali, wait in the library."

"Yes, Ma'am," with a bob of a curtsey the doctor stepped out.

"You are not going to turn anyone in for anything." Anderson rounded on the new guy. "If you even think about involving the police in our private business I will not stop Dalton from imposing the fine you so richly deserve for violating the contact on his client, the details of which you would have found in the file you were holding had you taken the time to read the thing. And that's on you, not Nagel, so unless you have half a million in your back pocket I suggest you just let it go. Now at this point you have two options. You can head out to the Virginia house for however long it takes you to learn some manners…"

"What? Why? I didn't do anything…"

"Or I skip your ass back to California with three bounces off the Mississippi. You go out there until Grendel and Alex say you're ready to come back or you go home. Now what's it going to be?"

The new guy slumped back, grudgingly defeated. "I'll go to Virginia."

"Good answer. Now go upstairs and pack. Kurt, go with him. I don't want him alone with any of my clients. Kerry can drive you both."

Once they were out Morgan turned to Anderson. "What happened?" He had to ask. "How's Reid?" And that was just for starters.

"Good question." Anderson replied, accepting the cup of tea Vicente offered her. "He's fine. He's out there thinking, which is exactly what he needs to be doing right now."

Thinking was not unusual for Reid, and it did usually help. "You really beat people for saying no."

"Sometimes, depends on the person and why they're here. In Cali's case no, we don't. Kent messed up big time; the only reason why I'm not kicking him to the curb is so we don't make another Unsub." She looked over at him. "Can you tell me if he's going that way?"

Morgan thought. "No, I haven't seen enough. But if you'd like someone to go over it…"

"I would, and thank you. I can't ask Dr. Reid now."

"Is he going to be a danger at that other house?"

"Not as much. All the clients there sign contacts saying that they're open to everything and won't say no."

There was some murmuring in the hallway, and then Dr. Emil Kaufmann came into the room. "How is she?" Anderson asked.

"Better than I expected. Your office?"

"Sure." Before she left Anderson turned back to Morgan. "Leave him be for now. I'll call Dave later tonight with an update."

"All right." She better, Morgan thought, she just better.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

It was quiet in the garden. The sun had just set, the gloaming had come and the crickets were starting their nightly call. For all that Anderson told him to come and think the truth was that he hadn't. For the first time in so very long his head was empty, was just a hollow, rushing space.

Anderson came out quietly, her red skirt dark in the pearl grey light. She sat on the swing beside him. "Start with why." She said, quiet but firm. "Start at the beginning."

* * *

><p><em>Funny, Spencer thought as he nuzzled her hair, I might be a genius but that clearly does not extend below the neck. If it did I would not be reacting like this with an Unsub able to kill me at any moment. <em>

_But his body was considerably more stupid than his mind, or maybe he was just 28 and male after all. Between the warm and lovely girl next to him and the rather detailed description the Unsub had just given of what she was supposed to do next his body was merrily reacting without him. It had already reached 3 o'clock and rising._

_Cali stretched up and found his lips again, gentler, not as full, more for reassurance and comfort than anything else. "You know, I've only ever seen this done." She murmured._

"_I know." He tried to reassure her by pressing a kiss to her temple, but his eyes were closed and it landed in her hair. He opened his eyes to try again and realized that her blanket had slipped down to her waist. Dear God she was beautiful. "I'm sorry you have to."_

"_I thought that was supposed to be my line." She gave him this up from under look that was somehow wicked and amused and worried and scared all at the same time and he went up just that much more. "I've decide I'm taking this as a challenge."_

"_Oh?"_

"_Stay alive by doing this very well. Victory if we do."_

"_Yes." Outwit the Unsub, he could think of it that way. His erection bumped his naval, straight up noon. _

"_There we are then. Just close your eyes and pretend we're back in your flat, all right." With that she leaned in and kissed him again, then pressed another to the hollow of his throat, then one to his breastbone…_

_It wasn't hard to do. He closed his eyes and it wasn't hard to pretend that they were safe in his bed and she was just a really nice, kind of amazing girl who was doing this willingly, not just to live. He wanted to believe that, he really…. He swallowed, and "If...um, if we weren't here, and um, it wasn't…" He felt the soft silk of her hair, the heat of her breath. "Would you…"_

"_Do this if it was just us?" She placed the softest kiss on his stomach, right beside his naval, and then another lower. "You know," he could hear the smile in her voice, "I think I would."_

_And that, right there, changed everything._

_She touched him then, gentle hands and then the lightest of licks that sent electric shocks sparking along his nerves. It was all he could do to hold on, to last until she could do exactly what the Unsub wanted. They had to work together to fulfill his fantasy. But now it wasn't just that, she wanted to do this. She wanted to. She wanted…_

* * *

><p>"What did that mean to you?" Anderson asked, quietly.<p>

Spencer sat for a long moment and listened to the rushing in his head. "It was the perfect excuse." He admitted, finally. "She wasn't the first girl who wanted me; there have been a couple since I started at the FBI, two, actually."

"What about what you wanted?"

"The first girl I ever wanted lured me out to the football field where the team stripped me naked and tied me to the goalpost." He admitted after a long moment. "Ever since then I've tried not to think about it before a girl is clearly interested."

"Those other two were interested."

"Both were victims; that would…be unethical." How could he explain? "It always seemed like for one reason or another the timing was wrong. But this time it wasn't, we had to in order to stay alive. But she was willing which meant I could be willing, but no one else needed to know that. That was between us. So we wanted to, but we also had the perfect excuse, so we could relax and…and…"

"Enjoy it?" Anderson prompted gently.

"Yes." Yes, that was right. "Granted at that point I was the only one enjoying it, but…we soon saw that he had a reason for that."

* * *

><p>"<em>I don't think I can do this." Cali told him very quietly.<em>

_They had lain back down when she was done. She was shivering slightly, as fluttery as a rescued bird in his hand. Prostaglandins, he thought, she must have absorbed them in the back of her throat. Personally he felt relaxed and warm and quite content to just lay here and hold her for as long as it took. He also never wanted to lose her, not ever. She had just caused the most amazing experience in his life. He didn't know his body could do that. Put it all together and this was a disturbing development. He pulled her in a little closer, neither of them really caring about the lack of clothes at this point. "Why not?"_

"_Guys are more…mechanical. I don't think I can relax enough to…"_

_They both knew what was coming, if not immediately next, then very soon. "I won't hurt you, I promise. If it hurts I'll stop." And find another way to make the Unsub happy. _

"_I know. I know; it's just that….I don't even know if I can fake it well enough, especially if he was a Trainer. I mean if he's coaching us step by step he has to be watching that closely. I just don't think I can…." She still couldn't say it_

_Spencer rested his chin in her soft curls and thought, which was not easy to do at this particular moment. I should be just lying here, he thought, contemplating our next go, and how to make it that amazingly wonderful for her. Not that I have any clue on my own, mind you. But at least I… "I don't think we have to worry." He said as it all clicked._

"_Why is that?' Fear was making her a bit angry, just a bit._

"_Because he's watching us that closely; he knows we don't know what we're doing, we gave him that questionnaire. And he wants you to enjoy it, or else he wouldn't have bothered to have me go first. I mean, it really didn't take that long, did it?" But now that the initial, ahem, pressure was off he could last until she found release. Or he had a much better chance of it._

"_Yes, but…"_

"_Look, you told me to imagine we were safe in my apartment. You also said you've witnessed situations like this, served tea and what not. Can you picture a situation where you would feel safe doing something like this, with someone walking you through it?"_

_She was still shivering, but she closed her eyes and nodded. "Y…yes. Sometimes trainers come in from other houses to teach seminars, or specific people things. It's…well it has happened but not like this…."_

"_OK, but picture something like that. Pretend we're there and we'll play along." Hopefully it would be enough. It had to be enough, he wanted to have at least that much._

_The intercom crackled again._

* * *

><p>"Did she?" Anderson asked.<p>

"Yes." Spencer answered. Somehow on this night, in this place, he was beyond embarrassment about anything. "Everything had a reason. And it was so easy, he was telling us exactly what to do…"

"You like that?"

"Yes." Wait, what, was he…. "No." But…wait… "I don't know. Maybe. Look, I have been looking after myself and other people since I was ten. I can take care of myself."

"But…"

"But…he was supportive, all right? He was…encouraging. We could…believe it was for our sake and not his. I'm finding it very...restful to have people I can trust who have my best interest in mind to…I don't know."

"Uh-uh." Anderson was calm and quiet, but firm. "You know it. Try again."

For a long moment he listened to the hollow echo in his head as the truth grew and grew until it was inescapable. "Definition of Submission, the acknowledgement of the legitimacy of the power of one's superior; also to defer to another's judgment, opinion or decision, to yield oneself to the power or authority of another, and/or to allow oneself to be subjected to some kind of treatment." He stopped thinking then, just allowed the words to come. "There's always been some kind of…ulterior motive. Catch the Unsub. Become my replacement….take…take care of your Mother when I can't. Howard was the first one who….it felt like he had our best interests at heart. He just wanted us to be happy. He even introduced each of us to the perfect mate."

"He really didn't, you know."

"I know. But he came from this system and this system does, he was so deeply indoctrinated in that carried it into his derangement. It's not really about training slaves for owners, is it? It's about making a safe place for…omega wolves…"

"Uh-uh." She interrupted gently. "Get your language right."

The truth was a weight trying to press him into the earth, "…submissive to exist, at least the ones who want to be a part of…to serve something greater; where the Alphas…the dominant personalities around them strive for empathy. That's why all the profiling, it's an attempt to understand." He had yet to actually look at her, but managed something that was almost a smile. "They try, you know, the team. They really do care and they try. But when you're the only…submissive in a room full of dominant personalities it's easy for them to turn on you when they have to bond with another…pack, for lack of a better term. It's easy for them to lie to you. It's easy for them to leave. Because they just don't…can't understand. That's what this system does, it teaches the dominants what it feels like so they don't."

Anderson sat quietly a long moment. Then, "Why did you stop beating on Kent upstairs?"

Spencer was quiet himself. The answer was there, right there. But if he put it into words it would be real, and he would have to face it. He wasn't sure if he could, he wasn't sure. But then Anderson reached over and put one hand on the back of his neck, just there, warm and dry and just a little heavy, the first time she had ever touched him.

He relaxed completely.

"Ah. I see." She said, very quietly. "Do you?"

"I stopped because you told me to." He admitted. Yes, there in the deepening dark he admitted it. He stopped because she told him to. He stopped because he recognized and accepted her authority.

He stopped because he had submitted to her.

Anderson lifted her hand away then. "So why did you start beating on Kent?"

"Because of what Howard did."

* * *

><p>"<em>I think I've made a decision." Cali said into the hollow of his collarbone.<em>

_She was lying, sprawled atop of him. He was still buried in her heat, but that would have to end soon, unfortunately. Thankfully not for long, Master, as the Unsub liked to be called, would be giving them the next set of instructions soon enough. Based on what he kept telling them to do he did seem to want them to enjoy themselves at least. And Spencer had to admit, he was enjoying drowning in Cali quite a lot. Not only was he reveling in all things base and physical for the first time in his life, but he was doing it with a woman who was genuinely interesting and sweet and caring and interested in him. Were they not imprisoned he'd be very, very happy. Now he finally shrank so much that he slipped out, and she slowly spilled off beside him. "What decision is that?"_

"_I don't think I want to do this with anyone else. Ever." _

"_Really?" Monogamy? Commitment? It took him a moment to remember that there was a world outside of this bed; that it might not work out there, but it had been days and days and out there was so very far away. Right now there was just this bed and this woman and. "Neither do I." He couldn't ever do this, be this with anyone else. It couldn't even be dreamed. Well, there was only one thing for it, he leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers and asked. _

_She smiled to all dimples and sun and replied._

_The speaker crackled to life. "That is unacceptable." Master said. "A slave must be available to all for use."_

"_No." Spencer said without thinking. He was too busy drowning in her smile. _

"_No." Cali replied, and she leaned in and kissed him._

_Without another word the hissing stopped. The drawer slid open. "Place the blankets in the drawer."_

* * *

><p>"When I heard that Kent was punishing her for choosing me I just…I lost it. I honestly don't remember what happened until I heard your voice." Spencer admitted.<p>

"Now I understand." Anderson said evenly. "Do you?"

Spencer nodded slowly. If Cali had been the first thing, the most important thing, they would have had to drag him off Kent. He wouldn't have stopped giving Kent that well-deserved beating at just one word from his…his… He knew what his actions meant. He took a deep breath. "So what happens now?"

"Well, knowing what you know about yourself, now you have some decisions to make. But first you go back to work, tomorrow, travel and all, knowing what you know now. I don't want you making any decisions with blinders on."

"I can't…"

"Go back, at least once." Anderson insisted. "Then you decide."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**BAU Headquarters  
>Quantico, VA<strong>

**Morgan**

Morgan watched as his friend came in, nodded a quiet hello, and headed up to knock on Hotch's door, carrying a file that was not one of theirs. "Did Anderson call you last night?" He asked Rossi.

"She did." The older man replied.

"And what did she say?"

"That he was cleared for travel and that we should keep an eye on him anyway." Rossi sighed, "That we might have to go to Plan B after all."

Morgan looked over. "Plan B?"

Rossi nodded. "I just hope she's gentle with me." They watched Reid and Garcia cross in the hallway, Garcia lighting up as she heard the news, then watched her go to Hotch with a file that was one of their own, "Looks like we have a case."

**Gulfstream 5000  
>Southeastern US airspace<br>Three days later**

**Rossi**

God, it had been a bitch of a case.

The local police chief had called them into that rural area out of desperation. Bodies of young women, mutilated, something they had seen a hundred times but it was all new to the locals. This was an insular community, isolated, distrustful of outsiders, especially of overly-educated outsiders. Especially over overly-educated outsiders who tended to babble, not realizing their behavior might be considered showing off and making others feel dumb.

Right from the get go it was clear that the way to bond with the locals, to get them to actually be a help and not a hindrance was to play the Good Ol' Boy doing a crappy job, which included pretending to share the local prejudices, to show that the locals really weren't as different from city folk as they felt. Thankfully none of them went after Morgan, and the sexist remarks directed toward JJ and Emily seemed to just roll off their backs. But then there was the educated one, the one who wasn't a sturdy Alpha personality…

By now he was probably used to it, the cracks about the human computer, the kid who thinks he's smarter than anyone, all book learning and no experience, the quiet question in the men's room about his sexuality. The not-so quiet remarks about how sorry they were that a great team had to be saddled with that geek and don't the powers-that-be just screw over the working man all the time. The constant reminding to just stop talking, stop sharing unless it was very quiet and just them, stop playing to your strength. It had happened so many times before, right?

Right?

Morgan came and sat across from him, where Reid couldn't see or hear. "You think he's okay?"

"I don't know." Rossi answered honestly. "Up until we caught the Unsub I would have said no. This case...no, the way we were acting was a drain on him."

"What's different? We've had to do that before."

"You know what's different. He's caught a glimpse of a world where he'll never be treated like that, especially not by his friends. I just wish all that hadn't happened on his first trip back."

"Yeah, but he was the hero. He's the one who talked the Unsub out of his delusion. Thanks to him no one got hurt."

"Yeah, I know. But I don't know if that's enough anymore."

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

**Spencer**

He didn't go in right off. He went out back and sat on the swing and just looked at the warm square of heaven that was the kitchen window. After a while he saw a familiar figure coming out, and down the path toward him. "See, the conquering hero comes. Sound the trumpets, strike the drums." Anderson said as she sat beside him.

"Thomas Morell." He replied, quietly.

"So, how was it?'

"Awful." Spencer told her everything, ever crack, every time they told him to stop talking, every disgusted look. He'd noticed it all, and every one was painful to remember. "The entire time I felt like at any moment I was going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and destroy all the trust they were building and that would push the case back and then people were going to die. Every time this happens I keep wanting to go to Hotch or Rossi or Morgan and ask them to please just tell me what to do and what to say because I'm five minutes behind them somehow and they're all speaking in a language I just don't understand. But it would make even less sense to them if I asked and they would never think of it on their own."

"I'm assuming you didn't destroy the case."

"No, no, we got the guy. He was delusional, completely. I don't know if it was schizophrenia or not, I didn't see him long enough to make a diagnosis. I had to talk him down before that pack of wild dogs they called a police department shot him, it was the only way to find out where he was holding the girls."

"And how did you do that?"

Spencer shrugged. "I got in the way."

Anderson just stared at him a long moment. "Spencer Reid, are you telling me you stepped between a delusional killer and a herd of armed cops out for blood?"

"It was the only way to save him. He was the only one who knew where the girls were trapped. It was the only way to save the girls." It seemed simple at the time. It still did now.

"Huh. Well only way or not that was a dammed brave thing to do. I'm proud of you."

Spencer felt his world slowly implode. I'm proud of you. When was the last time anyone said that about him? His mother, years ago? And was she even sane at that time? Simple praise but it warmed his blood more than anything short of Cali…. "Thank you."

They sat for a long moment, swinging in the darkness. Then she spoke again. "So, have you made a decision?"

"I have."

"And?"

"If we do not lay out ourselves in the service of mankind whom should we serve?" He had thought about this for so long, he felt, weighed every option. But in the end… "When we found those girls, and their parents came for them… sometimes… doing the right thing, serving the greater good, there's something about that. It's better than anything, acceptance, praise….love. You wrote about that, didn't you? True service is its own reward."

"I did." She nodded, quietly. "So you're going back then?"

It was so hard, but in the end it was simple. "I am going back."

"You know what you're leaving behind?"

"Support. Encouragement. Acceptance. A place where I'm safe. A place where I feel at home. A place where I don't have to pretend to be an Alpha personality." He took a deep breath.

She added the last of it for him. "Cali?"

He nodded. "If I must. Call it my duty, if you like, to use my abilities to stop monsters. Service of humanity, to make a difference one person at a time. It's the honorable thing to do."

"For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required. Luke 12:48."

"Yes. But one cannot truly serve without sacrifice; I think that was also one of yours."

"No, that was Chris."

Spencer nodded. "I'll explain it to Cali while I pack." I cannot stay in her world, he thought, as welcoming and safe and comforting as it is. I must do my duty to the world. I only hope she comes to mine somehow, or barring that, she waits until my duty is done.

Anderson nodded slowly, looked him over as she stroked her throat. "You know, you know how to turn an old lady's crank pretty hard."

Well that…that left him blinking in the darkness. "Excuse me?"

"I always did admire someone who truly understands honorable service, someone who isn't just in it for what's in it for them. And I believe such honor and devotion ought to be rewarded." She looked him over again. "Stay."

He slowly shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't keep slaves, everyone knows that. And I couldn't be one and stay with the FBI, even if I wanted…"

"Which you're still not sure you do, which means you don't. Submissive, but not that submissive?"

No, he thought. "I'm not willing to give up control of my body." Labor, yes. Time, maybe. But not that.

"And you're right, I don't keep slaves. But I have had a bondsman or two in my household from time to time."

He had come to realize, and appreciate, the precision of language here, "A bondsman?" Not a slave, something different.

She nodded, slowly. "I have no personal interest in owning someone's _body_. Their _labor_, on the other hand, can be a different matter." She looked over. "Interested?"

Unlike a slave, where everything was a take it or leave it proposition, a bondsman could be expected to hear the terms up front; could even negotiate. "In hearing more." If there was a way of being in both worlds he was interested, he admitted it.

She smiled. "In that case we should go inside; a garden should not be profaned with business." She stood and he did as well, remembering his manners. "Help an old lady." She said as she took his arm.

"I seriously doubt you're that old." He said as they walked to the kitchen together.

"I'll have you know I'm 71." She told him

He blinked a little at that. "Oh," old enough to be his grandmother. Good heavens.

They reached the quiet kitchen. "Yes, oh. Now would you please put together a tea tray for three and two slices of that chocolate walnut torte Vincent left and bring it all to my office."

"Yes, Ma'am."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Anderson Residence  
>Washington DC<strong>

While Spencer went to do that, Anderson headed for said office. On the way she met Chris Parker in the hall as expected. "Go up to my room and get that slip of paper out of my dressing table and then meet me in my office." She told him. "You may be about to get a brother."

She smiled inwardly at the shocked look on his face; she did love throwing him off his balance. But he only said, "Yes, Trainer," before heading upstairs.

Once in her office she lit the candles in the fire place by way of a fire, and went and dug an old file out of an old cabinet. By the time Chris got there she was already behind her desk, studying the contract to be certain it was exactly what she was looking for. She looked up briefly as he came in, but otherwise did not say a word. He placed the slip of paper on her desk, moved the correct distance away as she placed the file square on the blotter in front of her, along with that slip of paper and a formal envelope with her House mark embossed on the flap.

They were both waiting when Spencer came in with the tray. She nodded to him to leave it on the table by the fire, which he did before coming to stand in perfect line with Chris. "Um, if I may, where's Cali?"

"Helping out with an event up in New York; she'll be back in a couple of days." Anderson said. "All right, formalities first. Do you or do you not want me draw up a contract on your behalf?"

Spencer had been carefully considering this while the kettle boiled, while he built the tray. As much as he was very comfortable and happy here, such a thing was just not something he felt drawn to be. He might be, no he was, submissive but what he said in the garden still held. He did not want to be a slave. "No, Ma'am, but thank you for asking."

"All right," she wrote across that slip of paper and slipped it into the envelope, then turned to the business at hand. "The definition of indentured servant, please," she asked him as she got up and went to the area by the fire.

Spencer cleared his throat. "A person who signs and is bound by indentures, a contract binding one person to work for another for a given period of time, especially in return for payment of travel expenses and maintenance." He looked at her, a bit confused. "I don't know how much I owe you for my time here."

Chris had gotten there first, and she accepted the tea he poured her. "You don't. No, I want you to pay as you go, with your labor, that way you can cancel this contract at will. I've already had someone find a way to weasel out of one of these." She said, waving her hand at Chris. "And I don't care to go through that again." With a nod she indicated that they should help themselves and sit. She took a piece of the torte. "Here's to hoping I'm not going to be the only one with a sweet tooth around here anymore."

Chris passed Spencer the other piece and poured tea all around. "You know, refined sugar..."

"Save it. Now are you going to tell your story or am I?"

"There's not much to tell. My parents kicked me out for a freak when I was fifteen."

"Homophobia?" Spencer guessed.

"Among other things, I spent a few years couch surfing in the Manhattan meat packing district. I ended up making decent money as a soft-world pro." He saw Spencer wince. "I survived it. But I heard about this organization that did that sort of thing for real. So when I turned eighteen I joined up."

Of course Spencer had winced. An underage prostitute, in the BDSM scene, of any sex or orientation, led a dammed rough life. That had been risky as hell, he was lucky to be alive, really. But the rest… "As a slave?" He had not suspected that of Chris, not at all. But then he'd never seen him relax like this either. It appeared that tonight was for telling truths.

"In the beginning, but Anderson decided I would make a better trainer, so she tricked me."

"How?"

"I needed some medical treatment, something I couldn't get while being wholly a part of this. She said she would arrange and pay for it and send me to college if I would sign one of those bondsman's contracts of hers, which I did, without reading it in detail. The first thing she did was have my records sealed and forbade me from telling anyone I was ever a slave. And so I was stuck."

Anderson laughed. "You enjoyed the misery."

"Well, this is true." Chris smiled and…wait…yes, actually blushed.

"How did you trick her?" Spencer had to ask.

"About twelve years ago, at the Academy, Sakai Tetsuo, currently the Trainer of trainers in Japan, which means in all of Asia, offered to buy his contract." Anderson stepped in. "I was so upset that he had gone ahead and told someone that I got on a plane and flew out to Kyoto myself to see what the hell was going on."

"And she is the worst white knuckle flyer you will ever see. Anyway, I never told him." Chris corrected. "Sakai-sama guessed."

"You didn't deny it." She accused.

"You never said I had to deny, just not tell." He grinned, yes grinned, back.

Spencer couldn't help it, he start grinning. He'd be hard pressed to tell if it was the word play or the gentle relationship behind it, but it was comforting to be a part of. "What happened?'

"Golden butt here got himself sold to the head training house in Kyoto for ten years and paid off his debt to me. Now he's on the same contract I'm proposing to you, day-to-day. His job is to represent me in the organization, I hate having to go out in public. And eventually he'll inherit my house."

Spencer digested that and frowned a bit. But Chris spoke first. "Given that, Trainer, I know it's not my place to ask, but why do you need another around?"

"Because it's come to my attention that I made a mistake, oh, about forty years ago, and I think Spencer here is just the fellow to fix it." She settled back with her tea, "Time to tell a story."

**BAU Headquarters  
>Quantico, VA<strong>

**Morgan**

Morgan took a deep breath when a familiar figure strode into the bullpen. This was their first day back after that miserable case, and he was almost certain Reid was going to go straight to Hotch's office and turn in his resignation. Please don't little brother, he thought, whatever it takes I'll fix it; just don't disappear on me, please.

Reid did not go to Hotch's office. Morgan watched through his office window as Reid dropped his stuff at his desk, then headed up to Rossi's office, knocked on the open doorframe, handed the older man what looked like an envelope, then headed back down to go fill up a coffee mug, just like any other morning. He was about to relax when he saw Rossi's face, all confusion and concern, and he was already on the phone.

Crap, what now?

Morgan got up and headed over there, getting there just as Rossi was hanging up. "What is it?"

"We need to go talk to Anderson." Rossi was holding a note and a slip of paper.

Morgan nodded. "Is that what I think it is?"

* * *

><p><strong>Rossi<strong>

"_Imala. Can we talk?"_

_They were at Washington Medical Center, fifth floor, northwest wing. The private, locked wing set aside for patients who required more privacy or security than most, politicians, diplomats, that sort of thing. Somehow Rossi had not been surprised to find out that Greta Mueller had privileges on this wing, or that Imala Anderson would ask her to use them in this case. Right now they were watching through the windows as Reid and the other victim, Calista Nash, slept off the drugs the Unsub had given them. But the reports were good, their injuries were not life threatening and they were breathing fine, their hearts were strong. So he decided this would be as good a time as any to breech another concern._

_He had asked the staff to point him to a private meeting room, where they could be alone. Once they were in he carefully closed the door behind him. "All right, Dave, talk." Anderson drawled as she sat at the small conference table._

"_Based on the pattern of injures, what's your evaluation." He asked her as he sat. "Is it as bad as feared."_

"_Easily, they're going to be a mess when they wake up."_

"_Enough to cause the…permanent changes we discussed?"_

_Anderson settled back and looked at him. "You mean is the boy a submissive? Or has this experience made him one? Now you know I can't tell that until I have a chance to evaluate him. I told you I'd look after him for six weeks, by then he should be back on his feet and we'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with."_

_Rossi sighed. He really did care about Reid. "I'm concerned with what might happen if it comes to that, especially if it leads him to leave the FBI." Reid was about the same age James would be if… "If he does, will you take him in?"_

_She stroked her throat as she considered, then nodded, slowly. "Based on what you told me about him, yes, we would. I'd hate to lose a mind like that to the streets. It can be cruel out there, especially if you're looking for that kind of a fix."_

"_We?"_

"_Our…organization."_

"_That's not what I meant." He held up a hand as her eyebrow went up. "I know, I know, the Trainer of Trainers does not own her own slaves." It took everything he had just to have this conversation, to put it into her language. "Hear me out. If he does decide he wants in, have him evaluated for cost, and then tell him you're putting him up for private sale. Blame it on his past as FBI, too high profile to risk the block. Then tell him you found an owner who wants to remain anonymous, who is going to pay you to manage him for them, and who is ordering him to stay with the FBI."_

_Anderson didn't need it spelled out. She chuckled. "You really think you can afford him?"_

_Rossi pulled out his checkbook. "Be gentle with me."_

"_How long?" _

"_Five years. Option for another five, no renegotiation."_

"_I never recommend those."_

"_This is a special case."_

"_That's true. What restrictions do you want on him?"_

"_He stays with the FBI for one. When he's not at work or out with trusted companions he lives at your House under your supervision. You can farm supervision out to Parker, but no one outside your house. He stays clean, no drugs, NA meetings, regular therapy. And see if you can get him to live healthy, I swear he never sleeps and he lives off coffee and gummi bears."_

_Anderson nodded. "What about sex?" Oh hell. Of all the things he did not want to talk about. She saw it on his face and smiled. "Don't you go getting all missish with me now"_

_He sighed. "I trust your judgment. But I want him to keep his dignity, no matter what. He deserves the best, preferably something romantic." That's what I would have wanted for James, he thought, romance. Like I had with his mother. _

"_If that's the case I'll make him wait until he finds a nice girl to marry. All right, I'll do it for you. We'll call that Plan B. I'm assuming you don't want the rest of your team to know? I think if you used the term 'submissive' in front of that textbook G-man out there his head would explode."_

"_The less they know of the details of all this, the better. I'll have to tell Morgan, he won't leave anything alone, but the rest don't need to know. And Reid doesn't need to be that embarrassed. That's also why I want my name out of it if it comes to it. Reid does not need to know that I own his contract."_

_She chuckled again and nodded. "And I'll keep any paper I have to generate on him private as well."_

"_Good." He passed over the second check he had written her in 24 hours, both made out to her personally; she would transfer funds to her organization if needed. Only, with this one, the amount was blank. _

_She looked at it and then carefully put it in her pocket. "You know you could be talking millions here."_

"_Anything." Anything to keep him safe and happy. Anything at all._

* * *

><p>Morgan had thought he had heard everything. "You were going to <em>buy<em> him?" Clearly he was wrong.

"I was going to make sure he was safe." Rossi corrected. "We can't be there 24/7 and I trust Imala. If she needed money and paperwork to keep her in good with her people I was willing to go there."

"All right. So what happened?" Morgan took the papers Rossi was holding. The slip of paper, that blank check Rossi had written for Reid, was now marked VOID across the front. And there was a note with it.

_D –_

_I outbid you._

_- IA_

"What the hell does that mean?" Morgan asked.

Rossi got his coat on. "I think we need to go find out."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Anderson Residence  
>Georgetown<strong>

It wasn't that Anderson was waiting for them that was irritating, it was that she was waiting so obviously, with the chairs set just so and a maid bringing in a coffee tray minutes after the houseboy had shown them into her office. Did she have to make it so obvious that she could read them like a clock?

They sat, accepted coffee, waited for the maid to shut the door behind them. He let Rossi start. "What the hell do you mean you outbid me? You don't keep slaves."

"No, I don't. But I do take on bondsmen from time to time."

"Bondsmen?" Morgan asked.

"An exchange," she explained, "Labor for room and board. I have a mistake that wants correcting and he's uniquely qualified to do that for me. And he's happy here, I think he deserves to be happy given the work that he does." She picked up her coffee. "Cool your jets Agent Morgan; I'm not after his body, for any reason. Neither is anyone here. Well, other than Cali."

"What mistake do you want corrected?" Morgan asked. He had come to trust these people over the past few weeks, perhaps not their organization, but these people. Now he wanted to trust them again, he truly did.

"Let me tell you a story." She settled back and folded her hands, her elbows on the arms of the western style chair. Back in the late '70's I was starting up my own house. There were two kinds of Houses in our system then, the British Imperial style and the more hedonistic ones. The British created slaves with impeccable training and unceasing loyalty, the hedonistic ones created sex experts with a high turnover rate. The best in the system combined the two, loyalty and hedonism, by tapping into the clients psyche and finding out what made them tick. The problem was teaching trainers how to do that, the best were few and far between and operated off instinct. They knew the files mattered, the endless interviews, the observations, but they couldn't put it down well enough to teach. My goal was to be able to do that, to create new Trainers who had the same skills as the old guard, but from the get go, the better to help our clients grow, and to start a house specifically to train Trainers.

To that end I started studying everything on human behavior I could find. I had to find a way to quantify behavior, to be able to accurately communicate my observations to others. So I took every seminar and class I could find, I went to every conference. The funny thing was, there was this group of guys who kept showing up at them as well. Always the same few, Dave Rossi, Rob Ressler, Jason Gideon, John Douglass…"

Morgan nodded at the very familiar names, "The guys who started up the BAU. That was about that time. I assume you noticed her." He said to Rossi.

"It was impossible not to. Those classes were uniformly white and male, and right in the middle was this tall, elegant woman with this long, dark hair and this command presence. She had everyone's attention." Rossi gave Anderson a look that was frankly appreciative, to which she just smiled. "Yes, I tried a few times, but she always turned me down. But along the way I started listening to the questions she was asking and the answers she was giving. And to be honest, I was frankly impressed. We all were at the time."

"Why didn't you ask her to join up?"

Rossi chuckled. "We did. She turned us down for that too." He looked over at Anderson. "Given the money this must bring in…"

"That wasn't it." She stopped him. "Back then the FBI was still getting over Hoover, you know that. It was white and male, as uniform as those bad suits you all used to wear."

"We would have taken a woman."

Anderson looked at him a moment, "Even one whose mother was Navajo?"

Both men sighed. No, Morgan thought, given the prejudices of the era, even if they had hired her she would have had an uphill climb the entire way.

She nodded, "Exactly. While in this organization I already had a good reputation, autonomy, even political power. But I realize now that if I had truly understood what you were doing I might have chosen another path."

"Oh?" Morgan asked.

"You people barely have the slimmest grasp on paraphilia and the nature of power exchange. The FBI's latent prudishness has cost you at least 15% of your cases so far. If Spencer was here he could probably give you a more accurate number." She told him.

No way. Just…"Are you serious?"

Rossi stilled him. "Over the past few weeks we've been swapping intel. You should see the files on my desk before you say anything." He turned to Anderson. "So come join us now. If I could go back…"

"Go back is not start over." She pointed out. "And besides, the first thing they are going to ask is how I've come by my experience and there goes my legitimacy. No, I've found another way to grant the FBI access to my knowledge base."

"Ah." Rossi nodded. "Yes, that would work."

"What?" Morgan asked.

"We stick a paper, let's say, in the system with her name on it, everyone is going to wonder who this person is and why we should listen to her." Rossi said. "But if the same information comes in under Reid's name it will be instantly accepted."

Ahhhh, that made sense. "So you want Reid to be your ghost writer?" He could see Reid going for something like that.

"And house researcher, part time, of course, and in exchange for room and board. Like I said, he's happy here." She got up and retrieved a file from her desk, bringing it back to Rossi. "It's an open contract, he can terminate at any time. I committed to a five year minimum with the option to re-up if both sides agree."

"That could put you out." Morgan pointed out.

"I think he's worth it." She settled back. "Full disclosure, Chris will inherit my House and my position in our organization when the time comes. Spencer will inherit my library; I think he's just the man to do what's best with it."

"So, um, what is specified in this contract?"

"Pretty much the same things Dave here specified. I expect members of my household to not drink to excess and to stay clean and take any help offered toward staying that way."

"That might be a good thing." Rossi interrupted to point out. "She can offer support with sobriety, we really can't without taking the risk that Erin will find out."

Anderson nodded along. "I expect him to stay healthy, whatever that means for him, I leave defining that to Greta. And while that contract doesn't say anything specific about sex I won't have anyone from my household out catting around the bars all the time, and I told him so."

Morgan chuckled. "I can't even picture Reid "catting" around bars."

"It's a boilerplate contract; he's not the only bondsman in my household."

Which could only mean… "I don't want to know."

Rossi was nodding over the paper. "Yep, it's pretty much what I specified. Not as strict, really. Only one addition, that he produces one to three academic papers a year that can be presented both for their organization and for the FBI."

"Well he ought to be able to do that in his sleep." Morgan looked over at Anderson. "So if he's living here, can we come visit?"

"Most of you, but remember, this is a working house. You see or hear something that throws you off I don't want to hear it."

"Most of us?"

She sighed. "We have a strict rule, no one under eighteen is allowed inside a Training house. "

Ah…"Henry." Well Morgan could understand that. The park wasn't that far away.

"I think I know a way around that one though. But I might need your help with it."

"Oh?"

Anderson smiled. "Spencer said you know something about construction."

**Spencer**

Later that evening Spencer returned to Anderson's house with another load of boxes from his apartment. Aside from the social and psychological aspects this move was saving him rent, utilities and food just off the top. Given that Bennington sucked down 2/3 of his salary every month and they had to pay their own way on the road and get reimbursed he was coming out substantially ahead. But Anderson told him not to give anything away, just to store what he wasn't using in one of the outbuildings for now, including his furniture. As Bondsman he was moving up to the third floor, the literal suite across from Chris, with a small sitting area and his own bath. Since he wasn't actually working with clients he turned down the offer of office space, but he would set up a desk in his rooms upstairs.

While he was technically of equal "rank", for lack of a better term, with Kurt now, and "under" Chris only by virtue of the older man's age and experience, he was not comfortable ordering Peter or Kerry around at all. No, he had no plans to actually get involved in the business end of the house. He didn't even tend to wander much outside of the kitchen, library, and that small parlor space, and none of those were places where the actual "work" of training was carried out. Peter and Kurt both offered to help with the boxes though, for which he was profoundly grateful as the dumbwaiter was broken. He was about to haul up his third box of the night, silently cursing said broken dumbwaiter, when Chris found him. "Anderson wants to talk to you."

Regardless of his position in the household there was still a great deal of respect there. If nothing else the kind he would feel for an elder professor with a great deal of experience to learn from. To that end he immediately left that box in the pile and headed to the office, tapping gently and waiting to be welcomed. "You wanted to see me, Ma'am?'

"Mmm-hmm," Anderson stood up from her desk and came around to meet him. "For starters, stop that, you're not a slave. My title is Trainer, if you insist."

On formality? It was part of the draw of this place, and the title suited the relationship just fine. "Yes, Trainer." He smothered the smile that wanted to creep up.

"Better. Now I don't do collars, if people want to stay part of my house they do one way or the other or there's the door. And how Chris carries my mark isn't appropriate for you, in many ways. So I decided this would do." She opened the box she carried and took out a pocket watch and handed it to him. "Carry it, that way you remember that when it's time to live wholly in one world, you have a home to return to."

It was a beautiful piece, heavy silver, outstanding quality, with space for a picture on the inside, if he wished. The outside was what made it unique. It was heavily engraved with the mark of her House, a western rose, the kind you might find on a fancy boot. "Thank you Trainer." He would carry it from now on, it would be a comfort when a case turned…difficult, a reminder that someone understood.

"You're welcome. Go finish moving in."

"Yes, Trainer, um, if I may, have you heard from Cali?"

"I've heard of her, she's doing fine. The event is tonight, she's scheduled to fly home tomorrow." She looked at him evenly. "You know she has to make up her own mind."

"Yes, Trainer."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Martin's Tavern  
>Georgetown<strong>

**Morgan**

"I just don't get it." Morgan said to the man across from him. "He's my friend, all right. And if he's some kind of broken I want to help."

Martin's Tavern was a quiet, neighborhood sort of place. They had taken a booth in the back, ordered some beer, and Chris had broken down enough to take off his jacket, loosen his tie, and even rolled up his sleeves. Morgan had not expected tats, not the flames that reached up the smaller man's forearms. "Ok, there's your first mistake." Chris stopped him. "He's not broken. Different is not broken." He picked up a pretzel stick from the basket on the table and gestured with it. "Are you thinking it's something pathological? And if so, is that because you only see dominant and submissive personalities in the context of work?"

"Probably," Morgan admitted. "The submissive always seem to allow the dominants to completely take over their lives, some to the point of losing their identity entirely. And the dominants are quite happy to have someone to use and abuse."

Chris nodded, fished a pen out of his pocket and turned over one of the napkins. "First off, stop thinking of it as an either/or, black and white binary. Look." He sketched the traditional bell curve on the napkin; drawing vertical lines at roughly the ten and twenty percent marks on either end. "The vast majority of people are in the middle. They don't want to give up any of their personal power, nor do they really want to take over other people. The people that fall into these spaces," He indicated the area between the ten and twenty percent lines, "Find ways to live and be happy that are socially sanctioned. Lifetime enlisted military, members of the cloistered clergy, personal assistants, Military officers, business leaders…."

"Which most people would see as dominant and submissive personalities, all right," Morgan nodded.

"The personalities you see at work have gone so far off the ends of the graph that they're almost unchartable. What we're dealing with are the people just over the edge of this line." He indicated the ten percent line. "The people who just can't quite find their niche in sanctioned society."

"And you think Reid is like that?"

"Yes, but just, barely. But you know this stuff, you tell me. Does he fit in anywhere outside work?"

"Well he's got friends. He's got us."

Chris nodded. "Friends from work who fit a hierarchical structure, however loosely organized. Define your hierarchical structure, and has anyone in your unit ever been promoted? Or demoted"

Morgan considered this. "Well, Director Strauss is at the top. Hotch is Unit Chief, right under her. Rossi is right up there with him by virtue of his experience. Then it would be me, JJ, Prentiss and Reid. I hate to say Garcia is at the bottom of the pile, but as a technical analyst and not a full agent she just doesn't have the rank."

"Uh huh," Chris was drawing a diagram on another napkin, laying out the levels as Morgan had explained them. He showed it to Morgan, one figure at the top, two on the next row, four on the third row, and one on the bottom. "Except that's not really true, is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, as I understand it, JJ was originally a media liaison, something more akin to a technical analyst than a full agent, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Ah." Chris wasn't finished. "And you, at one point, took over as Unit Chief for Agent Hotchner. And a submissive personality would always see himself as the bottom of the pack, being elevated feels too unstable. So to Spencer, the hierarchy started out looking like this." This diagram had one figure, Strauss, on top, then two, Hotch and Rossi, then two, Morgan and Emily, and then three, Garcia, Reid and JJ.

Morgan considered that a moment. Who inevitably stayed behind at the police station when that was needed? Who would never, ever be promoted to management? "Okay, I'm tracking."

"But then you and JJ both got promoted," new diagram; one in the top row, three in the second row, two in the third row, and now only two in the bottom row.

"And each time there was a disruption in the hierarchy it would put some distance in the relationship. I never thought of Reid as a subordinate, but for a time there he was."

"He thought of it." Chris confirmed, "And he'll never forget it."

"He probably even considers himself subordinate to JJ now." Well there's a thought for you. And while he was thinking about it, "Did he tell you about the Reaper or about Ian Doyle? He must have told you about Gideon."

Chris nodded. "Hotch falling apart and your subsequent promotion rocked his world pretty hard. So did Gideon just pulling out like that. And what happened with Emily and Hotch and JJ? No offence, if they were Owners in our system we would have pulled their ratings by now. You guys make some seriously crappy Doms."

Morgan chuckled. "I will tell Hotch that someday. OK, so how do we…not do that anymore?"

Chris sat back. "I don't know that you can. It's seems inherent to the work that things like that will happen; you just can't guarantee physical and emotional reliability and do the work that you do. Our studies have shown that a lack of reliability in the dominant personalities around a submissive can lead to emotional isolation due to fear of abandonment, with all the inherent problems, low-grade depression, anxiety, sleep disturbance, psychosomatic issues, an increased risk for addictive personalities to re-use. That's why we use the Trainer and House system, a submissive in our system always has the Trainer to fall back on should the Owner fail, and if not the Trainer then someone else from his or her House or training line. There is _always_ that support available. In his case some awareness all around and now a support system separate from the job should increase his resilience, which is really all that's needed."

Morgan nodded. Now that he was looking at it from this point of view, maybe Reid's point of view, it did make more sense. "So what form does that support take? I mean, I've been reading through some of that library, and with what happened with Kent…."

"No, no no," Chris shook his head. "Many of the Houses in our system include eroticizing submission and paraphiliac behavior. Anderson doesn't, she's very strict about that. If we have a client who needs to work on those issues we send them to another House until that's dealt with. And besides, he's not interested in that. At all. Not only does he not eroticize submission he's very straight, very monogamous, and still firmly pair bonded with Cali."

"What's the term they use?" Morgan asked with a grin. "Vanilla?" Yeah, that would be Reid.

"Oh, he is so very vanilla."Chris just shook his head. "I have never met someone so vanilla."

"Even after everything that happened with the Unsub?"

"Yep, now that he's had some distance and therapy he's come to see the kinkier behavior as an exercise in getting high, and feels about as attached to it as he does to narcotics. It's just not something he would ever do to himself or a partner again."

Morgan couldn't help but chuckle. He could see Reid like that, so very easily. "OK, so if not that what does this look like?"

Chris considered with pretzels a moment. "OK, I have a good analogy. Probably one you're intimately familiar with. Ever play sports?"

"Yeah. Football, Northwestern, two years. I got injured, was off the team after that."

Chris nodded. "Have a favorite coach?"

"Gary Barnett. Best damn coach you ever want to meet; brought the team back from dead last all the way to a Big Ten Conference title and win at the Rose Bowl. Coached me both years."

"So you respect his authority?"

"Absolutely. Without a doubt."

"So you submitted to him."

"No. Never." No, it was not like that, not with Coach Barnett.

Chris held up a finger. "He never told you what to do?"

"No."

"He never had you go on a training diet? Never had you show up for practice? Never had you go to the gym outside of practice? Never said you had to show up for classes and keep your grades up?"

"Well, yeah, but…."

"Never made you run extra laps or do pushups for doing something dumb? Never made you or any of the other guys sit out a game because you did something _really_ dumb."

"Yeah, but…"

Chris' eyes were twinkling. "And while he never told you who to date or what to do with them, I bet he told you to keep it in your pants the night before the game." He leaned in closer. "And you did."

Morgan glared at Chris' smile in consternation. "It was never a turn on. He was just looking out for my best interest, trying to help me stay on track with school and the game."

"So you didn't eroticize it. But it was still submission."

Morgan couldn't help it, at that moment he saw the analogy and it started him laughing. "Okay, now I get it. He was my coach, another word for Trainer."

Chris nodded. "And he supported your efforts to get through college and to improve at a game you love. It's the same thing."

"Reid's not training for a sport though."

"Call it life skills. Look, to continue to flog this metaphor let's call what you do at the FBI football. Every time you go out on a case you're going to a game, right?'

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Now you don't have any coaches, do you? I mean, I didn't see one on your team layout here." He picked up the napkins with the diagrams of the team on them.

"No, we don't." Ahh, but now that he understood the analogy, "But we did. Gideon. He mentored both me and Reid when we came into the BAU. And Elle, she used to be a member of our team. Not so much Emily, but, um, come to find out she transferred over as a senior player from another league."

"So she probably didn't need as much coaching. But Gideon left?'

"Yeah, and he lost his confidence well before that. He, um, lost some games along the way. And some of his up and coming players got hurt." Reid and Hankel came immediately to mind, and Elle and Randall Gardner and his problem with the cops over Buford. "Yeah, that analogy still works. When Gideon left I was a senior player. I did some time with Chicago PD before I came to the BAU, I had more time in, I was older. Reid was still a…junior player. Losing a coach would have hit him hard."

"Especially with no replacement," Chris picked up. "And while he has some wicked talent, he may be lacking in the self-confidence category. Now, you guys are all senior players, and dammed good ones, but even you have had some falls without a coach around."

"Yeah, we have. And they've hit him more. Now, eventually I didn't need a coach any longer, maybe eventually he won't either."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't rush it."

"Yeah, some guys always do." Even that might fit. "Okay, I'm tracking. So, what does that make all of you?" Morgan asked.

"Basketball, different game, but we have a large number of well-trained coaches. And one of our senior coaches realized that a kid on your team has a lot of potential, but no coach. Now, granted the game is vastly different…."

"But serving something is still serving something, and a coach is still a coach. The support and the discipline would still cross over. So she offered to work with him, even to let him live in the player's dorm with all the support that would entail in exchange for what? Some help with the paperwork in the off season?"

"Something like that, but that was just an excuse to get him some coaching, she just hates to see a kid with that much dedication blast himself out of the game from lack of support."

Okay, Morgan thought, now it all made sense. "And that's why Anderson doesn't allow sex in her house. If you both see this as coaching…"

"Think of it as a training camp. Going out to an Owner is going out to a team. And each Owner is also associated with a camp."

"Right, but having sex with the coach would be unethical." We need to be very firm on that, he thought.

Chris nodded firmly, "Absolutely, always."

"But not every camp agrees with that." Morgan helped himself to the pretzels, "Nagle."

"That's pretty much the problem between the Houses, right there. We think he's unethical and hurting…well, I hate to say players but it fits the analogy. He thinks we're old-fashioned and not in touch with player's true needs. Eventually whoever has the most players keeping long-term contracts with the teams, the Owners, will win out."

"But Reid's not a player."

"Yes, he is. He's still submissive. He's just chosen to play football."

Okay, now it made sense. Now Morgan knew what was going on with his friend and he had an idea of how to help. Good, that was good. After a long pause he looked over at the man across the table, "So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Anderson said she had another bondsman in the house. I assume she meant you."

Chris took a pull on his beer. "Yes, she meant me. Twenty three years, with a ten year break in there."

"Oh?"

"I spent ten years with a Japanese team." He must have seen the look on Morgan's face. He chuckled "Obviously submissive doesn't mean quiet or introverted."

"Obviously," Morgan hadn't expected that, not at all. "So, Anderson was your…coach?"

"You know, I am going to have to start calling her that now." Chris chuckled. But then he sobered. "Yes. She saved my life with it."

"Really? What happened?"

Chris looked at him long and steady. "I'll tell you if you tell me about the coach who got you so worried about ethics."

Morgan froze with his beer halfway to his mouth. He had forgotten that he was, in effect, sitting across from another profiler, one that he actually…liked? Something? Did he want to talk about that now? "That's gonna take more than beer."

Chris signaled the waitress.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**Plaza Hotel  
>New York, NY<strong>

**Cali**

"So how long have you been a housekeeper?" Cali asked her companion.

"Oh, a good twenty years now," Claudia answered. She was a small woman, delicately shaped, her soft brown hair up and just so. Only a few faint lines around her eyes gave away any sign of age, but given that she had to be over forty, Cali thought. They were taking a few moments break from helping to organize the auction, specifically the food and champagne that was being passed, to have a bit of lunch of their own.

"And always with Mistress Madeline?"

"Oh my yes, Mistress wouldn't let me go to just anyone. No, I have a home there."

Home. A few months ago the thought of a great house to call home would have filled Cali with pleasant anticipation. But now it just made her stomach twist. She nibbled at her sandwich a bit before taking a deep breath. "Have you ever…" No, she couldn't ask.

"Have I ever what, dear?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"You mean with someone other than Mistress Madeline?" Claudia had the sweetest laugh. Cali felt herself blush. "You mean with a man. Yes, Robert. We trained at the Virginia house together. He's a chauffeur now, belongs to Mistress Pauline over at Pound Ridge. He's a darling man." Her voice was warm with fond love for an old friend. After a moment of memories she continued. "He was my first, you know."

That was more than Cali had planned on asking, "Really? You mean, in training?" She'd never heard of such a thing.

"Well, yes. It was up to Mistress Madeline what to do with that little problem. She left it up to me, and I chose Robert." Claudia smiled

"Up to…?" Cali's jaw was practically dropping in shock. "Wasn't that part of your contract, that it was up to you?" She shouldn't have had to deal with it at all if she didn't want to.

Claudia laughed again, "Oh, certainly not. Granted I have heard the British houses do it that way, but not in the rest of the world. No, your Owner wants you to play, you play."

"But if it's in your contract…"

"What are you going to do? Say no? Fight? Call the cops? Complain to your Trainer and have them fined? Do that and you'll lose that contract and never get another. No, you might as well accept now that if you go to the block your new Owner is going to want to enjoy himself or herself with you." Claudia looked over with a certain concern. "You're not….?'

"Oh, not any more. There's this Professor…" Spencer, she thought. I promised him. He promised me. Love, we do love.

Claudia laughed again. "Then what does it matter?"

Cali shook off that growing feeling of dread. "It doesn't. Mr. Dalton said he would find a private sale for me anyway."

"Oooh, well, good luck with that." They had finished lunch by now, and Claudia looked around. "We still have a few minutes; want to go take a peek? If you're going through a private sale it might be the only time you ever see an auction."

Cali wasn't sure, but she got up and followed the other woman, pausing at the doorway, in the shadows, just to look. She knew, she had heard, that slaves went to the auction naked, but it was one thing to hear and another to see it. There were two dozen at least up for sale, New York was one of the larger sales in the world. One after the other, poised on a pedestal, on their knees, their legs well apart, their arms kept behind their back, and open collar and lock draped around their necks. Some were gagged but others were free to answer questions. And the potential owners were free to…to… "I didn't know they're allowed to touch?" Cali said as she watched two tall men in impeccable suits fondle a pert little redhead.

"Well how else are they supposed to judge the merchandise? Granted that sort of thing is an indication of a desire to buy. That's not just casual."

Cali watched as one of the men signaled one of the waiters. A moment later the waiter brought a damp towel and the one who had been probing the redhead stopped and wiped his hands while the other left off toying with her breasts to take a turn. They went on talking as if nothing had happened, the redhead keeping her eyes demurely down as was proper. But the whole thing made Cali feel ill…

* * *

><p><em>Cali felt herself fall backward into the pile of blankets, back into her own skin. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. No, like the fire was dying back, leaving something fine that would float on the merest whisper of a breeze. Yes, she felt swollen and sore after all that touching and what came after, but it felt so very good now. Even the weight on her pelvis was a sweet, hot thing. She rocked up into Spencer's body, tightened muscles she hadn't used before, and got one last gasp out of him. She couldn't help it, she started giggling. <em>

"_Well done." The disembodied voice said. Then the intercom clicked off._

"_We did it." She managed to get out between giggles. "It worked." She hadn't thought she could. But the…what was the term he used, Unsub?... had insisted they do what he told them, step-by-step. As humiliating as that had been at first it had worked. It worked, they did it. That was the most wonderful thing._

"_Yeah, we did." Spencer was grinning something fierce as he eased out of her and then down beside her. "God, you're beautiful. Why are you giggling?"_

"_I don't know." She rolled into him, delighting in the feel of a now familiar body. "Is it wrong to hope that that team of yours doesn't get here right off?"_

"_Probably," he admitted. Then he looked like he was about to say something else._

"_What?" She asked._

"_I, um, this may be wrong to say, but if they do get here right away, we can always continue this at the nearest hotel."_

_She smiled and stretched up to kiss him. "Dr. Reid, is that a proposition?"_

"_I believe so, yes." He was so darling; he was even turning red about the ears._

"_Good, because I can't imagine doing this with anyone else, ever," she stretched up and kissed him again._

* * *

><p>The two men with the redhead had moved on, now a third was taking a turn. A bidding war will be good for her, more money in her account, isn't that what I'm supposed to think? And it's really not that awful and… but all she could think of was how much better it would be in a safe, warm place with someone whose eyes were full of wonder and love, not with a complete stranger who didn't even have to look you in the eye.<p>

Claudia nudged her. "Cali, stop woolgathering." She nodded over to where the head butler for the occasion was gesturing to her.

Right, back to work. She threw one more look at the redhead. Granted, the girl was probably quite happy with what was going on, but she…she…

Claudia watched as Cali walked away, exchanged a nod with the butler. You're welcome, Chris, she thought.

**Dulles International Airport  
>Washington DC<strong>

The next day Cali returned home to DC.

It wasn't the work from yesterday that had exhausted her; she had worked large events before. Rather it was the sleepless night that had her drooping. All night she had tossed and turned, remembering her time with Spencer and how it had been, how it had felt to find herself in his arms. And she was remembering what she saw, that redheaded girl and how they had looked at her; touched her as if she was just a thing. It was the look in their eyes, she realized, so cold, so uncaring. It won't be like that for me, she thought for the thousandth time, I will call Mr. Dalton when I return to Anderson's to make certain. They will treat a housekeeper with respect, surely. And I'll ask Mr. Dalton to put a note in my contract that I'll be allowed to stay in contact with Spencer. And…and I'll just take a five year and then we'll see. I can make it through a five year if I don't have to…

"Cali!" She heard the familiar voice hail, turned to find Mr. Parker waiting for her. "There you are."

She didn't know she had this look about her, wan and tired and tight about the eyes, a look he'd been waiting for for several weeks now. "Hallo, Sir." She said politely, not dropping a curtsey for it being in public.

"Looks like you made it all right," he took one of her bags from her, politely indicated the correct door. "How was the trip, were you able to see the auction?"

"I was, yes Sir." She managed a polite smile, even though she really didn't want to talk about it right now. Peter was waiting with the car at the curb. "It was very educational."

"Well good." He passed her bag to Peter to go in the trunk. "I was hoping you'd get to have a peek so you'd have some idea of what was coming. There's one coming up in Vancouver next month, we'll have you registered."

She stopped dead in her tracks. Surely she could not have heard that right. "I beg your pardon, Sir?"

"For sale," he turned and smiled at her. "We're not going to be able to improve you any further and you're completely healed from your ordeal, it's time to move on."

"But…I thought…Mr. Dalton said a private sale."

Chris sighed and stepped closer to lower his voice, "Yes, about that. Unfortunately we haven't been able to find anyone willing to go a private sale on a first-time contract. But don't worry; you'll do fine on the block."

"But…I could end up…anywhere." With anyone, she thought, who could do anything. Who could treat me like… like…

"True, that is the nature of the service. Don't worry." He smiled encouragingly, "You'll be a precious possession no matter where you end up."

She didn't know, she couldn't know, how impressed he was with her composure as her world very quietly shattered around her and fell at her feet. She didn't know that his turn back toward the car was deliberate, not at all as casual as it appeared. All she knew was…was… "I'm afraid I must beg your apology, Mr. Parker." She said at last, having not moved, perhaps not breathed for a long moment.

He oh, so carefully turned back. "Oh?" He asked, "What for?"

"For the caning you may well be giving me this evening." Without another word she turned and started walking down the concourse, "Taxi!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**BAU Headquarters  
>Quantico VA<strong>

**Spencer**

Later Spencer would be eternally grateful that they hadn't gone out on a case that day.

It was your average in-office day, with everyone catching up on average tasks. He, Emily and JJ had recent case files spread out on the conference table and were making sure all the paperwork that might not have been precisely done in the heat of catching an Unsub was now very precisely done, before it went to an attorney somewhere. Granted he seemed to be doing three times the work of the others, but he rather enjoyed a good pile of paper.

If there was one thing he had learned of late, it was that it was perfectly fine to feel like he was, in a way, serving the others, or the FBI or perhaps humanity as a whole by getting all the details perfectly correct so that no Unsub went free on a technicality. His friends didn't see it that way of course, and it used to bother him that he seemed to be the only one to feel like that, the only one tempted to think like that. He used to wonder why he couldn't be more like the others. Now he knew that he was just a little different, and that there was nothing wrong with being different, and that serving something greater than yourself was a good and honorable thing, so long as you were happy.

And he was happy.

"So get it treated." JJ was saying as she and Emily came back in with coffee and doughnuts. "Get that laser treatment to get rid of the scar and then get a tattoo over any marks that are left. Own the thing." She put the plate of doughnuts and napkins down in the middle of the table.

"I know." Emily replied, putting a mug of coffee down in front of Spencer and taking her apple fritter. "But that might not be enough to start dating again."

About the time Spencer decided he wasn't even going to attempt this conversation the intercom in the center of the table popped to life. "Hey Reid," Garcia's voice sang out. "Reception just called, you have a visitor coming up."

"Thanks Garcia." He marked his spot and got up to meet whoever it was at the elevators.

"Expecting someone?" Emily asked.

"No." No, he wasn't and it concerned him just a little. You never know, right? But when he got to the BAU lobby the elevator opened and there was Cali, a clearly upset Cali. "Hey, what's wrong?" Crying Cali was not acceptable. The world needed to stop until whatever was wrong was rectified. Nothing else would do.

She looked around, clearly at the people everywhere. He drew her off out of traffic, figuring she'd ask to go someplace private or something. But the dam broke before they could get there.

"I can't do it." She said in a quiet, overly emotional voice. "I can't go through with it. I thought I could go out there and put up with being some object someone owns for ten years in exchange for the life my parents have, but I can't do it. Not now. Not anymore. Not now that I know what it means to be loved. I can't settle for anything less anymore, I can't. I can't just be a thing someone can use and not acknowledge, not after all that. So, that's it. I'm out. I'm walking away. I'm going to go back and tell them I can't go through with it. I may not have anything in my life, I may not have a job, I may be drowning in debt, I may not even have a place to sleep tonight but at least I won't be locked into something I simply cannot do. So if you meant what you said in there please, please say it again because my entire life is falling apart and I could really use something to hold on to right now."

The world did stop. Spencer could feel it stop and hold its breath. She had made her choice, and she chose…she chose… For the first time in near to two months he felt the warmth of her skin as he gently cupped her cheek. "I do still mean it. I meant every word. Will you? Still?"

At that moment he swore her smile was brighter than the sun. "Yes." Without another word she stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his waist and stretched up to kiss him, and he felt the world start turning again.

They were so lost in that kiss that they didn't hear the entire office cheering them on.

**Anderson's Residence  
>Georgetown<strong>

While she could have simply left, Cali chose to go through the formal exit process. "After all," she said, "If there is one thing that I have learned it's that you simply never know what will happen in the future. I might change my mind someday." She was standing at the kitchen counter, assisting Vicente in preparing dinner.

"Do you really think so?" Spencer was on the other side of the counter, watching the process.

"Well, probably not. But I don't want to burn my bridges behind me."

It was the more conservative option, he supposed, so he couldn't really complain.

* * *

><p>She spent a long time talking to Chris, a long time talking to Emil Kaufmann the psychologist, an even longer time talking to Anderson, and a disconcertingly short time talking to the accountant the organization sent over.<p>

"What exactly do they want paid back?" Morgan asked during their run the next morning.

"Training fees," Spencer panted back.

"How much can that be?"

"Well, even if you figure that her labor balances out her room and board there is the time and effort of the people who worked with her."

"That's not exactly legally enforceable. She could argue that her labor covered that as well, or that they were working anyway."

"True, but that organization is also a multi-national corporation in the hospitality industry. And they did put her through four years of Cambridge and a semester of grad school at Georgetown in addition to arranging for her travel costs."

Morgan visibly winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Ouch.

* * *

><p>Finally, two days after Cali had arrived at the BAU there was a knock on the front door. Spencer heard it from the library and went to check but Chris got there first. The man standing on the stoop was neither short nor tall, was rail thin, had a face that was deeply creased and once he removed his bowler hat had a fringe of white hair around a mostly bald head. His eyes looked to be piercing blue and good humored behind his round, steel glasses, and he was impeccably dressed in a dark, three-piece suit right down to the pocket watch and walking stick. Chris bowed the man into the foyer and accepted the hat and cane, "Mr. Dalton, a pleasure to see you again, Sir,"<p>

"Humph." Spencer managed to smother a smile. Mr. Dalton was every inch the image of the perfect British butler, but he couldn't control his micro-expressions. He was happy to be here on this errand, the laughter around his eyes gave it away. "I have told you not to call me that, puppy."

"Blame your sister trainer, Sir, who taught me never to embarrass her by showing insufficient courtesy to my elders and betters." Chris was smiling through all this formality. "Would you like me to tell her of your arrival?"

"Yes, of course, puppy."

Spencer took the opportunity to retreat to the kitchen, out of the way of the business at hand. While Anderson greeted Dalton he caught Vicente's eye. Puppy? He mouthed to the older man. Vicente nodded as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

A few moments later Chris stepped around to the linen room off the kitchen where they kept the mangle and the ironing board. "Calista, Mr. Dalton would like to speak to you in Anderson's office."

Cali stepped out to follow him, looking nervous and sad and impossibly strong all at once. Spencer caught her eye and gave her a smile of support, but that was all he could do as she stepped away.

It seemed like forever, but it was in fact less than an hour, during which time Spencer found himself too nervous on her behalf to do anything but wait. But in due time that proper British voice was heard again in the hallway. "Imala," Spencer heard clearly. "Will you join us as witness?"

Spencer quietly headed down the hall after her, met up with Chris who was standing a little ways off. Mr. Dalton and Cali were standing just inside the doorway to Anderson's office, and she had just joined them. She nodded for them to go ahead. He turned to Cali. "You are quite certain, my dear?"

"Yes, Sir," Cali no longer looked frightened, only calm and strong.

"All right then." He reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a small silver key and once she lifted her chin unlocked the antique lock that still hung around her throat. He removed it and her collar slipped free.

"Oh." She said very quietly as she reached up to feel her bare neck for the first time in eight years. "Oh that does feel odd." She managed a smile, though her eyes were beginning to fill, as she turned to her now former teacher. "You will keep it safe, Sir, won't you?"

"I will indeed. You never know what the future will bring. And you know, my dear, you don't have to address me as Sir any longer."

Her smile grew and was more sincere. "Yes I do, Sir. But I hope you will permit me a liberty." With that she gave him a fierce hug.

He simply grinned and accepted it. "There there. You go and be happy. Now, Imala, I will be exceedingly rude and prevail upon you for tea as I am unlikely to find any decent tea on what passes for rail service in this country. And I should like to meet this young professor who has stolen away one of my best students if I may."

"I think that can be arranged. " Anderson drawled as she led them to the parlor. "So, Cali, I suppose this means you're going to be looking for work now?"

"I'm afraid I have to, I have debts to pay."

"Well, that's good. Vicente's been whining my ears off about too much work for him around here. He's been hankering for me to hire a housekeeper for I don't know how long now. Maybe after tea we ought to have a talk.

Cali's eyes met Spencer's and they smiled.

* * *

><p>In the end Cali accepted the job as Anderson's housekeeper, an employee, not a slave or a bondsman. The job came with room and board which she chose to accept so the vast majority of her salary could go to paying back what was in essence a student loan. "It will take a few years," she admitted, "but the sooner I get it paid off the better."<p>

She was staying on as a guest for a few days, while they shifted things about and returned the linen room and store room to their original roles as a housekeeper's suite. And Spencer had called Hotch, taken a couple of personal days on call, and was going to take her for a week-end in Vegas to meet his mother. Granted they were going to take Anderson's advice, get two hotel rooms, and not come back married. "If you're going to do it, do it right." She had advised them. "And if you really want to start over like you should have wait until you marry. And give me time to finish, please!"

Later that evening Spencer and Cali strolled out to the garden swing. "I wonder what she meant by finish." Cali asked him as they walked arm in arm in the soft summer moonlight.

"She said that a training house really isn't a proper place for a married couple." Spencer told her as they settled. "And that we ought to have a place for Henry to come and visit, so she's having some repair work done to that building she's been using for storage. Turns out it's the original guesthouse for the property. She said it ought to be big enough for two."

Cali had turned to look into the garden, back the way he was pointing, and now grinned, "Oh, brilliant!"

"Yes. There's just a fence back there, she said she's going to take part of it down and move it, so that the back door actually opens onto the sidewalk. Apparently she can call that a separate piece of property with a separate address, so if Strauss asks it looks like we're renting."

"Perfect!" They settled on the swing, her in his arms, leaning back against him. "Who ever thought we would end up like this, you a bondsman and me with a real job. Are you happy?"

Spencer considered. He had missed this, had ached with missing this, and now that she was back in his arms it was all the sweeter. He still had his job with the BAU, his friends there, but now he also had friends here, people who understood what it was like to be a little different and who supported him. And he had a woman he loved very much, and what was special between them would always remain so.  
>"Yes, very much so. Are you happy?"<p>

"Yes, I am, although I still can't get used to this." She reached up and touched her neck for the thousandth time that day.

"Well maybe this will help." He reached around her and opened a small box where she could see. It was a band of tiny diamonds, and one garnet in the center, just like a heart.

And with that their story began.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note:<strong> This could be a good place to end, but I am also considering an epilogue showing them a little over a year later. Granted this is a busy week for me, it could take a few days to write. If you would like one more chapter please say so in the reviews._


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

JJ peered through the window as she drove through the narrow streets of Georgetown. She knew they had been busy, it had been one case after another for months on end, but how had she managed to go six months without seeing Spence's new house?

While she sat at a red light she remembered his wedding. They had been concerned at first because it had been in England, but somehow Cali's employer had managed to cobble together enough airline miles and discounts and who knew what to allow them to all go out there. It was too bad Henry would be too young to remember, they had stayed on the grounds of an actual castle, moat and turrets and everything. And the wedding was in this adorable little country church that had to be hundreds of years old. Really it had just been perfect. The only odd thing had been the way Morgan and the other groomsman had been acting, but surely that was just her imagination.

Turn here, turn there, all the way at the end of this street, just at the end of this stone wall. They were renting a guest house from Cali's employer now, saved on the commute and probably more than they could afford to rent otherwise. It was a darling little house, two-story and stone, with a little porch that brought it out past the fence line. JJ parked at the dead end and made her way back to the door, carefully shielding her prize from the rain under her coat and umbrella. Ten minutes here and she'd be heading home to collect Will, and then it was a long, romantic week-end in Jamaica. Thank god Henry's Godfather was willing to babysit.

"Hey JJ. Sorry about this." Spence stepped back to let her in.

"No, it's all right. It happens." JJ slipped past him and looked about. A small mudroom led to a small back hall with stairs leading up. What must have been an office was latched, the better to keep Henry out of case files. Past that was a tidy, complete kitchen with a built-in booth of a table, and then a small, sunken living room complete with a wood-stove for heat. It was all very warm and cozy. She grinned a hello at Cali, there in the kitchen stirring some soup, but it was the fellow at the booth with the crayons who caught her eyes. "Found him." She pulled a forgotten Paddington Bear out from under her rain coat and pulled her son into her arms.

* * *

><p>"So how was the presentation in Cincinati?" Anderson asked.<p>

Morgan was sitting on the steps leading up to the third floor of her house. One of the interesting things about old houses, a lot of times you could hear through the heat registers. From here he could listen to every word of the conversation. He knew Henry was staying with Reid and Cali for a few days, knew that Reid had headed over here after Henry was tucked into bed. He knew that 99.99 percent of his friend's life was much the same as it had always been. It was in these quiet, evening meetings over desert and tea that things were different, and he was curious.

"Horrendous. I didn't hold the audience, I kept losing my place." He could hear the frustration in his friend's voice. "You know, I've never been a good lecturer. It's just not me."

So far the discussion had ranged over the case in San Francisco, about how had he not gone wrong and how interesting it had been and have I done enough with my life. Anderson had been receptive and encouraging in turn, getting him to see that the work he did truly did matter and that he had turned out well because of his Mom and his essential good character. Much like Gideon might have once upon a time.

"I don't see why not. Come by over the week-end and we'll work on it. Chris has presented papers before, I'm sure he'll have some advice. I want you to present that at the Academy next year if the FBI let's you go."

"Yes, Trainer. I'll put in for the time off. Any idea where it's going to be?"

"Vancouver this time."

Morgan's head turned at the creek of the stairs, the touch on his shoulder. "Eavesdropping is rude." Chris pointed out, quietly.

Morgan shrugged. "I needed to make sure he was okay."

"I know." Chris nodded. "Come upstairs."

Morgan did.

* * *

><p>Later that night Spencer lay in bed watching the rain come past the windows. Cali was warm and real, sleeping quietly, draped over him where she had landed after love.<p>

How had this marvelous thing happened to him?

They had waited until after their wedding, a good eight months. Waited, letting want and need grow slowly, carefully, until by the time they came together again it had been as amazing as the first time. No, more, given that they were free and unafraid.

Yes, in the end he truly loved her.

Somehow out of all of that he had not only found love, but a world where he was safe and understood. And if he was not wholly a part of that now it was because he chose the FBI, and the friends who also loved him. He straddled two worlds now, was comfortable in both for having the other, and was completely content.

He was home.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note:<strong> And that will be that for this story. Thank you all for joining me on this journey. And much thanks to my Beta reader the amazing REIDFANATIC for all her hard work._

_I have to point out that the presentation Reid was giving in the beginning of 07x11 "True Genius" was on the topic Anderson wanted covered. I did not know that in advance, but it does fit well._

_- TKL_


End file.
